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#just chilling on a (not drawn yet) bench

radiosteve · 7 months

Text

I Knew You

Summary: You and Steve Harrington have hated each other ever since sixth grade, which made living next door to him all the more miserable. It hadn't always been like that though, shared smiles and loving gestures in secret before popularity went to his head. But now, Steve somehow keeps finding ways to squeeze himself back into your life, making you question if the boy you once knew, the one you might have loved, still lived somewhere within him.

Note: Its been a bit since I last posted, but I had this idea and really wanted to write it. I'm currently drowning with work and school stuff for my masters so my next fic might take a hot minute and will definitely be shorter. This takes place in the fall after season 4 and both Eddie and Max survived with minimal injuries. It’s also partially inspired by Cardigan by Taylor Swift, hence the lyrics as chapter titles. This ended up being way longer than I intended for it to be, but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, no use of y/n (reader is referred to as Baby), smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), enemies to lovers, language, mentions of blood/injuries, some cannon divergence, fluff, angst, slowburn.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x reader

Word count: 30.5k (I got carried away)

I knew I’d curse you for the longest time

The last salt of the summer air lazed its way through the breeze, picking up the fresh fallen leaves with it. There wasn’t enough foliage on the ground to worry about raking them just yet, but it still brought a chill down your spine at the thought of autumn’s rapid approach. You were sitting on the window bench in your room with a book in your hands and your back against the wall as the breeze floated through the open window, making the curtains dance despite being drawn back. It was a moment of quiet, something you desperately needed.

You were lost in words on the page before you, taking them in sentence after sentence, until the loud slam of a door interrupted your trance. The sound of the door was followed by singing, loud and obnoxious singing. More specifically, Steve Harrington’s loud and obnoxious singing. He had just strolled into his room, playing air guitar along to whatever metal song he was bellowing. A metal song that you presumed Eddie had played so many times on the tape player in his van that it somehow ingrained itself into Steve’s pop-hits brain.

You sighed, shaking your head to try and brush off the noise as if this was a daily occurrence. Well, it almost was, in some form or another. You lived next door to Steve Harrington for as long as you could remember. Your bedroom windows faced each other too, allowing each of you to gain small, often unwelcome, glimpses into the other’s life. Just about every girl in school had come up to you at least once to tell you how lucky you were to have such an easy way to see Steve Harrington. Then they’d always proceed to ask if they could join you for a sleepover at your house, no doubt just to get a chance to spy on the boy in his natural habitat.

Your eyes flitted back down to the page, stuck on the same sentence ever since your ears were met with the unwelcome disturbance that was Steve Harrington’s singing. He’d moved on from singing to vocalizing the song’s guitar solo, which was somehow even more annoying. Steve’s arms moved wildly up and down his fake guitar as he banged his head up and down. If you weren’t so annoyed you’d honestly be impressed by the amount of endurance Steve’s performance surely required. But you were annoyed. Annoyed enough to finally speak up.

“Do you constantly have to make so much noise or do you just like to hear the sound of your own voice?” your remark rang out through the open window, trickling through the air to reach Steve’s room. You didn’t look up from your book, doing your best to look unbothered. Steve stopped singing and thrashing about. His heavy breaths evened out slightly before he responded, slowly approaching the window sill.

“Do you constantly have a stick up your ass or do you just like to pretend that you do?” your eyes widened at that, putting your book to the side as you turned to face the window, to face Steve. He had a smirk on his lips, one that you were more than familiar with by now. It was the smirk he flashed each time he said something that he knew would piss you off. Quite frankly, it was the expression you were most familiar with seeing Steve wear at this point in your life.

“If there’s a stick up my ass then it's only because you put it there,” it was a lame comeback. You knew it. Steve knew it. But they can’t all be winners. You winced as the words fell from your lips, waiting for Steve’s retaliation, which was sure to be unsavory.

“I don’t recall ever doing that. But Baby, if you bend over I’d be more than happy to oblige,” Steve's smirk grew wider. Whether it was the stupid nickname or the sexual nature of his response that caused the flash of his pearly teeth, you didn’t know. However, you did know that you hated it, all of it. You hated that you constantly walked right into his dumb little comebacks. You hated that he seemingly had an endless supply of them just for you. You hated the day that the stupid nickname was ever aimed in your direction and you hated that Steve Harrington was the one to do it.

It was late September 1978. Summer was still putting up a fight, albeit a weak one, to keep its warmth in the air. It had rained the night before, washing away the fresh fallen leaves to get stuck in the gutters along the roof or in the storm drains beside the narrow streets. School had only started back up a few weeks ago, and somehow, Steve found himself climbing the popularity ranks. It was a big deal for a sixth grader who’d only just begun his journey at Hawkins Middle to be so admired so fast, but Steve was already starting to see people worship the ground he walked on. He liked the idea of it, that he could waltz through the door of some place and up and run it so soon. His dad always said that the Harringtons were winners, and Steve knew he would be nothing if he disappointed his dad.

Steve was walking to school that morning, Tommy and Carol to his left as a group full of his classmates followed closely behind. It was as if Steve had his very own entourage. They were a few blocks from the school when he saw it, a bike abandoned on the grass next to the sidewalk. There was a backpack beside it too, laying face down as if it had been thrown off in haste. It didn’t take long for Steve to realize why the bike before him looked so familiar. It was the same one he had seen you on almost every day that summer. The bike you rode to the library, to Lover’s Lake, to the movie theater, to the quarry. As long as it was a place with a good story waiting to be watched or read, or a quiet environment to immerse yourself in a good book, someone was sure to find you there with that bike.

Steve panicked for a moment, preparing himself to run to the police station and report that you had been kidnapped. But then he looked up. You were hunched over the sidewalk a few yards up, picking at something on the surface of the cement. Steve’s legs moved, the others following, and stopped once again, this time only a few feet from where you sat on the sidewalk. Steve’s brows furrowed as he looked down, finally getting a good look at what you were doing.

You sat there, slowly and gently peeling the dried worms from the sidewalk. Then you parted the grass next to the sidewalk, putting the worm down to get it as close to the soil as possible. Steve watched you curiously as you moved on to the next worm. It was then that the breeze picked up a bit, shifting away the hair that covered your face. Steve saw it, the tear tracks running down your cheeks as you struggled with the worms that Steve was sure were already dead. A few chuckles sounded from the group behind Steve, and suddenly he remembered that it was not just you and him on that sidewalk.

You too had suddenly become aware of your audience then, head snapping up to see the group in front of you. Your eyes landed on Steve. His expression was etched with empathy, an emotion Steve still held onto no matter how much Tommy tried to strip it from him in his sudden rise to king status. At that moment you didn’t care about the others or the tears that still leaked down your soft cheeks. You cared about the poor worms that stuck to the sidewalk. Your gaze landed on Steve, appealing to the boy who lived beside you for so many years.

“The rain,” you sniffled and Steve’s heart ached at the sound. He’d seen you cry before, as he was sure you had seen him cry too, through the cracks in the curtains obscuring bedroom windows. Each time Steve had to stop himself from marching over to your house and wrapping you in a comforting hug. It was an urge that he still had to repress, even here and now. “The rain cools down the sidewalk and the worms like to come out onto it. But it- it’s not raining anymore. It's too hot for them now. They- they’re burning alive,” fresh tears fell, replacing the old ones. They ran races against each other, fighting to be the first to drip off of your chin and onto the cement below. Steve’s mouth opened, but he was cut off by the boy beside him.

“Whatever, worm girl. Just move out of the way so we can get to school,” Tommy’s words rang through the air, the entourage laughing at you from behind him. Steve could picture it now, you’d spend the rest of middle and high school deemed as the worm girl. You’d hide in all of your classes, eat lunch by yourself in the library, and ignore the taunts that echoed throughout the hallway. Worm girl, worm girl, worm girl. You’d leave Hawkins the day after graduation, a car full of boxes, your life packed up and tucked away in each, and you’d never return. You’d start a new life in a new city that only knows you by your real name, not some playground-esque tease that stupid Tommy Hagan awarded you in 6th grade. You’d be happy there, build a place you could call home, find your one true love, and Steve would never see you again.

Steve had to stop this now. He had to bury the name worm girl in the ground before it could ever fully emerge. And there was only one way that Steve’s prepubescent brain could think how. Your eyes flickered from Tommy before landing back on Steve, willing him to say something, to defend you. Maybe that was too much to ask.

“Damn, that was lame. Worm girl, really? Are we five?” Steve pulled his gaze from yours. He couldn’t bear to see the look of hope that blossomed in your eyes. Not with what he was about to say next. “I mean, if anything, we should call her Baby since she’s crying like one,” small giggles sounded off behind Steve before being overtaken by full-blown giggles and laughs. And there it was. Steve’s master plan had come to fruition. Replace a bad nickname with a not-as-bad nickname. It wasn’t a great plan, he knew that, especially when he saw the scrunch of your brows and the quiver of your bottom lip, but it was the best that Steve’s 11-year-old thoughts could conjure on such short notice. And Baby really wasn’t that bad. It's a term of endearment for Christ's sake. Or at least that’s what Steve would tell himself.

Tommy laughed from beside Steve, throwing an arm over Carol and guiding her to walk around you. The others followed, hurling a few taunting calls of ‘Baby’ at you as they walked by. You looked back down at the ground, refocusing yourself on the task at hand, ignoring the cracks running along the foundations of your heart. Maybe Steve wasn’t the same boy you had grown up with. Maybe his middle school fame had gone to his head more than you thought it would. More than you hoped it would.

You had just freed another dried worm from its place on the sidewalk when you saw it. A pair of Nikes in front of you. Steve Harrington’s pair of Nikes. He hadn’t gone with the others. It was like he was rooted to the spot. You placed the worm into the depths of the grass, tilting your head to look up at the boy towering over you.

“Screw you, Steve,” you spoke harshly, doing your best to let venom lace your words despite the shake in your voice. Steve didn’t say anything back. He just crouched down in front of you, gently picking up the last worm from the sidewalk. He copied what you had done, parting the grass to place the worm close to the damp earth below. Steve stood up then, walking back to the group that had now passed you, heading towards the school. They hadn’t even noticed he was gone.

Steve rejoined them, sticking to the back of the group to not draw attention to his momentary absence. He looked back at you then, finding you with your head turned over your shoulder, already gazing at him with confusion plastered across your face. He shot you a soft smile, one that he had typically reserved just for you. It only lasted a moment, but for that moment you were more perplexed than before.

In that smile was Steve. The Steve. The one that had plaid wallpaper in his room and hand-drawn pictures of cars taped to the walls (some that you had drawn for him). He was the boy who had a slew of green army men sitting on his window sill, the same ones that he had given you. They sat pointing towards the street out front, and never ever at you. They protected both of your rooms. The soldiers protected them from monsters, wizards, ghosts, and disappointed parents. At that moment, Steve was the boy next door who left messages taped to his window for you to see. The boy who stayed a few paces behind your bike after school to make sure you got home safely. He was the boy who promised to love you always before placing a peck on your lips when you were both five. He was the boy you knew, not the one who humiliated you in front of his friends.

But the moment ended. The smile dropped from Steve’s face as quickly as it had appeared. He turned his head back around, putting more and more distance between the two of you. You watched him for a moment longer until you finally managed to tear your gaze from his retreating figure. You moved then, leaning over the grass to see the worm that Steve had placed there, worried that he left it too high up. Most of the worms were dead long before you got there, you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from trying to help them. All the worms in the grass were lifeless and unmoving despite your efforts. All except one. It was the worm Steve had placed there.

You jumped into action then, using your fingers to dig a hole in the dirt. As quickly as you could, you placed the worm into the hole, covering it with the fresh soil. Its tail poked out just a bit and you watched with bated breath as it slowly retracted, moving deeper into the ground below. You glanced up at the sidewalk again, expecting to still see Steve in the distance, but he was gone. Over the hill and out of your eye line, just like the worm.

“Don’t call me that,” you bit through gritted teeth and Steve just laughed. His stupid, obnoxious, loud laugh. The one that warned you that danger was near anytime you heard it in the hallway in high school.

“Would you prefer I call you something else?” Steve pondered dramatically, bringing a finger to his lip and glancing up as if he were trying to remember something. “Maybe worm-” Steve began, a look of anger more prominent on your face now.

“Fuck you, Steve,” you cut him off before he could finish his taunt. He was about to say something else, no doubt another snarky comment that you could definitely afford to miss. It was about to spring from his lips when Steve was met with the sound of your window slamming shut. You locked it too, pulling the curtains closed and retreating to your bed, no longer in the mood to read. Steve stared at the purple curtains now blocking his view of you. Oh, how he hated that specific shade, knowing that they were the only thing keeping him from gazing at you.

Steve closed his window too, locking it the same as you had. But he kept his curtains open, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of you later. The hand-drawn cars that once lined his walls were replaced by movie posters, ones he had gotten for free from work. He still had the army men littered along the window sill though. Most of them had been knocked over on their sides and Steve never bothered to pick them back up. They pointed at your room now, though Steve never intended for them to do so, unlike you who had purposefully aimed your soldiers at Steve’s window no more than a few days after Wormageddon.

Steve sat back on his bed, laying down and placing his arms under his head. He’d made you mad. Gotten you all riled up, just as he had planned from the second you opened your mouth. So why did he not feel better right now? Why did his stomach hurt and his heart refused to rest? This battle was over. The war waged on but this was still a victory worth noting in the imaginary books. He hadn’t gotten the final word but he still won nonetheless. Isn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was a Harrington after all, and Harringtons were winners. Right?

But I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss

The sun crept along the horizon, unwilling to give in to the moon just yet. Orange and pink illuminated your room through the open curtains. You sat at your vanity, applying a final layer of gloss to your lips before smacking them together. Unbeknownst to you, Steve had been watching you through the window. He admired the effort you took while getting ready, although he knew you didn’t need it. Steve would never admit it, he’d repressed it for far too long, but he thought you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

You turned towards your closet, digging through it to find a pair of shoes that matched your outfit. Steve couldn’t help the clawing desire to know what you were getting ready for. There weren’t any parties that he knew of that night. Maybe you were hanging out with Nancy and Robin. He couldn’t imagine why you’d need to get dressed up for that though. Steve wished your window was open. He would lean on his window sill, asking about your plans for the evening. He’d say it in that snarky Steve Harrington way. The way he knew would elicit an eye roll in response. But maybe you’d give in and tell him. Maybe you’d invite him to go with you. Or maybe Steve was letting fantasy mix with reality.

A car horn sounded from outside, pulling Steve from his thoughts with a jump. He didn’t realize he was still standing at his window staring at you. At least he hadn’t until you rushed to your window, trying to get a glimpse of the vehicle out front. Your eyes locked with Steve’s then and you could’ve sworn you saw him blush. You brushed it off, refocusing on why you had come to the window in the first place. Parked on the street in front of your house sat a van. A beat-up, rusty, falling apart at the seams, van. Steve’s gaze followed yours, also noticing the van below. A van he was more than familiar with at this point.

You bent over, pulling on your shoes as quickly as you could before rushing out of your room and down the stairs. Steve jumped into action then, doing the same from within his own house. He burst out the front door just in time to see you grabbing for the handle of the van’s passenger side door. Steve peered through the windshield getting a glance of the unruly curls that rested on Eddie Munson’s head. You hopped into the van and Eddie looked up, seeing Steve cut through his yard and head towards the van. You fastened your seatbelt and looked up, also catching sight of the boy rapidly approaching you.

“Eddie, please drive. Like right now,” you turned to the boy next to you. Your voice came out shaky and desperate. Definitely not the commanding tone you’d hoped for.

“Sorry, princess. Gotta see what the hair is so adamantly chasing us for,” Eddie shrugged and you groaned, throwing your head back. Unfortunately that only made Eddie laugh at you.

“If you leave right now, I’ll do anything you ask for the rest of the night,” you pleaded, clasping your hands together to beg.

“As tempting as that sounds, it’s a bit too late,” Eddie points to the window behind you. You turn, seeing Steve standing next to your window, hand raised in a wave. Eddie leaned over, arm reaching across your lap to crank the window down, because he knew damn well that you wouldn’t do it. Not when Steve was standing on the other side at least.

“You’re like a goddamn jumpscare. I hope you know that Harrington,” you spoke, folding your arms over your chest as Eddie retreated back to his side of the van. He could identify the hint of jealousy on Steve’s face all too well. It was the same look Steve wore anytime a guy got too close to you or made you smile a bit wider than normal. Eddie was well aware of Steve’s complicated feelings for you, even though Steve sure as hell wasn’t.

“Whatcha up to? I thought you were staying home tonight?” Steve asked Eddie, resting his hands against the van’s door. He was close to you, too close. You leaned back in your seat, putting more space between the two of you.

“Well, now I’m not,” Eddie shot Steve a cheeky smile and Steve just blinked in response. “Ok fine,” Eddie gave in, unraveling under Steve’s stare. He hated lying to Steve, especially now that they’d gotten closer. “We’re going to see some band play at The Hideout. We’ve had these plans for weeks. I lied about staying home,” Eddie rushed out and your mouth dropped in shock.

“One look into Harrington’s sparkly eyes and you're spilling your guts? Pathetic,” you groaned from your seat. Eddie rolled his eyes, focusing them back onto Steve.

“You think my eyes are sparkly?” Steve quipped, a smirk growing on his lips. You heard Eddie laugh beside you and you couldn’t help the scowl that formed on your face.

“Get over yourself, Steve,” you moved your hand over the window crank, threatening to roll up the window, but Steve stopped you.

“Wait! I wanna come with,” he spoke quickly, eyes darting back and forth between you and Eddie. You couldn’t help the laugh that formed in your throat. “What’s so funny?” Steve glared at you then.

“Well, for one, you hate metal music,” you began and Steve scoffed.

“So do you,” Steve tried to retaliate, but the smirk on your lips told him he was fighting a losing battle.

“Sure, I’m not the biggest metal fan, but I like it enough and I love the energy of the crowd. Plus Eddie and I have been doing this for years. It doesn’t even matter, you’re not coming with us so you might as well give up now,” you spoke, lifting your hand in a sarcastic wave goodbye.

“Good thing it’s not up to you then. It’s Eddie’s van. He gets to decide,” your head snapped in Eddie’s direction then. You glared at him and focused as hard as you could. When you were younger, you and Eddie were convinced that you’d be able to communicate with each other telepathically if you tried hard enough. It never worked of course, but it never hurt to try. Eddie understood you better than anyone. He became your number-one confidant since the day you met. Surely he could pick up on your brain waves begging him to bar Steve from your plans.

Eddie headed towards the band room at Hawkins Middle with his guitar case swinging in his hand. He was early, intending to warm up on his own before the rest of Corroded Coffin got there for band practice. Eddie flicked on the lights, expecting the room to be empty. But it wasn’t. You were there, in the corner of the room, tucked between some music stands. You’d been curled into a ball and looked up when the fluorescent lights came on, illuminating your hidden figure. There were tears streaked across your face after a particularly brutal day of taunts from Tommy and Steve. Eddie set his guitar down and moved towards you slowly.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a quiet voice, hesitantly approaching. You remained silent, rising from your spot on the ground and wiping away your tears with your sweater sleeve. “I’m Eddie,” he spoke again, extending his hand for you to shake when he got close enough. You told him your name but didn’t meet his hand with yours, not yet.

“But everyone calls me Baby,” your voice was hoarse from crying but Eddie heard you loud and clear. He was an eighth grader but even he’d heard about the poor sixth grader that the popular kids had been calling Baby. It had moved beyond just them though. All of your classmates, teachers, and neighbors had adopted the name for you.

“Well, I won’t call you that, not if you’re not comfortable with it,” Eddie reassured you. He had been victimized plenty by the popular kids. He understood what it felt like, which is why he was shocked when you shook your head. His hand fell back to his side.

“No, it’s ok. I’ve been telling people to call me Baby to help reclaim it, I guess. It took Marissa the librarian forever but she’s finally gotten used to it. My parents still slip up, but that’s to be expected,” you shrugged. What you didn’t tell Eddie was that it still hurt when the name spilled from Steve’s lips. You weren’t sure why it did. But the more you were called Baby by everyone else, the more desensitized you hoped to become to it.

“Reclaim the name?” Eddie asked, eyebrows furrowed. You nodded, suddenly unsure what the boy in front of you thought. “That’s pretty metal,” a smile stretched his lips and his hand shot back up between you, beckoning for yours to join it. “It’s nice to meet you, Baby.”

“You too, Eddie,” you mirrored his smile, finally placing your small hand in his. Eddie’s calloused fingers enclosed around the back of your palm and two became one. You were inseparable. Inseparable in everything except for the reoccurring nightmare scenario that kept popping up in your life. You’d been dragged in early on, being one of the last people to see Barb before she went missing. You’d caught a glimpse of her through your window, sitting on the diving board above Steve’s pool, when suddenly she was gone. You joined Jonathan and Nancy in their quest to find her and kill the thing that took her. It sucked to keep Eddie out of that part of your life, but it was for his own good. Or at least it was until this past spring when Chrissy Cunningham became Vecna’s first victim right before the poor boy’s eyes. Then you told him everything. Your two worlds fully merged, and you and Eddie became totally and fully inseparable.

Your glare bore into Eddie’s and you thought you had gotten through to him. You were wrong.

“Alright Harrington, hop in. Quickly though, I don’t want to miss the opening act,” Eddie conceded, turning to face his gaze towards the road ahead. He could feel you burning holes into him with your eyes. You rolled the window up as Steve opened the van's back door.

“We’re so working on the telepathy thing again. Evidently, you’re in desperate need of a refresher,” you grumbled and Eddie chuckled at how mad you were at the addition of Steve to your plans. Steve closed the van door, lounging in one of the bean bags Eddie kept in the back. After what felt like the longest ride of being tossed around the back of Eddie’s van, Steve was never more thankful to see The Hideout come into view. The three of you filed out of the van as the sound of metal music filtered through the bar’s closed doors. Much to Eddie’s dismay the opener had already started their set. It smelled like cheap beer and cigarette smoke, causing Steve to wrinkle his nose.

“Go get us some drinks from the bar. Baby and I will get us a spot up near the front,” Eddie handed Steve a few dollar bills, enough to cover both your drink and his own. You and Steve might hate each other, but you’d been around each other in enough alcohol-fueled group settings to know each other’s drink orders. Steve beelined towards the bar, yelling over the music to order your Dirty Shirley with extra cherries, Eddie’s Rum and Coke, and his own Long Island iced tea.

He spotted you and Eddie pushing through the crowd. You were in front of Eddie, his forearm thrown across the front of your shoulders to keep you close. The two of you stopped not far from the stage. You leaned up to say something in Eddie’s ear, your back flush with his chest, and Steve felt a rush of jealousy run through him. Eddie had told him countless times that the two of you were just friends. That the kisses he’d once shared with you while high were just meaningless, drug-fueled, pecks on the lips. That was a lie of course, but Eddie definitely wasn’t going to tell Steve about the way you moaned against his lips until the two of you sobered up enough to feel embarrassed and swore to never speak of it again. Sometimes Steve needed to be lied to about certain things, mainly so Eddie wasn’t on the receiving end of Steve’s right hook.

The bartender placed the drinks in front of Steve in exchange for the wad of cash slapped on the counter. Steve grabbed all three glasses and began his trek through the tightly packed crowd. He’d gotten really good at holding a bunch of stuff in his hands at once during his brief stint at Scoops. Steve made it up to you and Eddie, passing the drinks to each of you. The three of you watched the opening band’s set, dancing as much as you could with drinks in your hands and a packed crowd.

By the time the opener’s set was over you had sipped enough of your drink to expose one of the cherries in your glass. Steve couldn’t help the way his mouth gaped as he watched you fish the cherry out with your finger, popping the morsel in your mouth and pulling it from the stem with your teeth. Eddie eyed the boy next to him, amused not only by Steve’s aroused reaction to such a simple thing but also by your complete obliviousness to said reaction. Despite the lack of music coming from the stage as you waited for the headlining band to come on, Eddie still had to shout over the buzz of the crowd.

“Show Stevie the thing,” Eddie gestured towards the cherry stem between your fingers. You shook your head in protest, but Eddie gave you his best puppy dog eyes and you were instantly beat. You rolled your eyes, placed the cherry stem on your tongue, and closed your lips. Eddie brought his arm up, glancing back and forth between you and his watch. Steve was baffled by the coordinated performance that the two of you were putting on in front of him. After a few seconds, your mouth popped back open. You plucked the cherry stem from between your teeth and held it up for Steve to see.

“Seven seconds! That might be your personal best,” Eddie exclaimed while Steve looked closely at the stem. It was tied in a knot. He took it from between your fingers and was about to ask how you did it when the band came on stage. Steve’s hand trailed down to his side, tucking the tied cherry stem into his pocket. He wasn’t sure why, but throwing it away felt wrong for some reason.

The band was really good, especially the lead singer. He was only a few years older than you and he had gorgeous, blonde hair that flowed down to his shoulders. Steve had scoffed when the singer winked at you during their set, but you couldn’t hear the sound over the music. The three of you had a surprisingly good time together, although it's pretty hard to fight with such loud music blaring throughout the room. Eddie and Steve were tasked with finding a table after the band left the stage and you got stuck with grabbing everyone new drinks.

“That was actually really fun. How often do you guys do this?” Steve asked, his pants getting stuck to cheap faux leather as he slid into a booth opposite Eddie.

“Once every month or so. It depends on which bands are playing,” Steve was listening to Eddie or at least he was at first. His eyes had been scanning the bar, trying to find you. When he finally did, his expression hardened. You leaned with your elbow against the bar, waiting for the bartender to come back with the drinks, but you weren’t alone. The lead singer of the headlining band was beside you. He was smiling at you, and even worse for Steve, you were smiling back. Eddie noticed the change in Steve’s demeanor, the jealousy that now filled the hazel of his eyes. He tracked Steve’s gaze across the crowded bar, landing on you.

Eddie was impressed. He’d seen you bag your fair share of hot guys after a show at The Hideout, but never had you managed to get with the lead singer of the headlining band. Steve, on the other hand, was not impressed. He was livid. It didn’t help that the lead singer had just placed his hands on your hips, pulling you flush against him as he leaned in close to whisper something in your ear. Steve quickly slid out of the booth, stomping his way through the crowd of people, heading towards you. Eddie winced, knowing he should chase after the boy, but slightly curious to see what would happen if he didn’t. Steve pushed through the bodies surrounding him, stopping just in front of where you stood against the bar.

“What's taking you so long with the drinks?” He called out and your head shot up at the sound of his voice. The smile that had grown on your lips quickly faded at the sight of Steve. The singer, Corey, looked up from where he had just started to kiss your neck. He didn’t move his hands from your hips despite Steve’s pointed glances.

“Hey man, you’re kind of interrupting something right now. If you want a drink then ask the bartender or whatever,” Corey moved to face you again, but Steve wasn’t done.

“Hey man,” Steve mocked Corey’s words. “You need to take your hands off of her right now,” your brow furrowed in anger while Corey filled with confusion.

“Sorry dude, didn’t realize she was your girl,” Corey assumed based on Steve’s comment and began to move his hands, but you stopped him.

“I’m not, I swear. I barely even know that guy,” Steve scoffed at that and you shot him a glare. Corey’s eyes flitted back and forth between you and Steve. He looked more confused than ever, almost painfully so.

“I’m way too high for this. You have her, man. It's not worth the fight,” Corey held up his hands in defense. Eddie had just worked his way through the sea of people in time to see Corey back away from you, scan the crowd, and head towards some pretty redhead across the room. Steve looked triumphant as he turned his gaze back to you. Eddie thought you looked like you were about to go ballistic. He’d never seen you that mad before in his entire life. You looked even angrier now than you had when Eddie purposefully put gum in your hair and it got stuck so badly that you had to give yourself bangs to get rid of it. Eddie was about two seconds from sprinting out of the building to save himself from being a witness to what was sure to be Steve’s murder when the bartender, Dave, called out from behind you.

“Here’s that Long Island for you, Baby,” you spun around, revealing the Rum and Coke and Dirty Shirley that sat on the counter behind you. You thanked Dave, giving him a good tip, before turning back to Steve. Because even in your fury, you could still be nice to the waitstaff. You picked up the Long Island, marched towards Steve, and slammed the drink directly into his chest.

“Since you wanted it so fucking bad,” you pushed past him, not caring about the way the liquid sloshed over the lip of the glass, coating your hand and Steve’s shirt. You moved towards the exit, slamming the door open into the moonlit darkness outside. Steve took a second to process what just happened. He placed the remainder of his drink back on the counter before following in your path. Eddie groaned, grabbing his now abandoned drink from the bar and downing it. He grabbed your drink from beside his, knowing you’d need it when this was over, and followed Steve. You had made it to Eddie’s van and tugged on the door handle, cursing the long-haired boy for actually locking it for once.

“What the hell was that?” Steve called out from across the parking lot with his arms held wide. He was stalking towards you at a furious pace. You were so pissed that you didn’t even notice your feet dragging you forward to meet him in the middle.

“Where the fuck do you get off?” you asked in response instead of answering his question. Steve stopped when the tips of his shoes touched yours, scrunched faces mere inches from each other. “First you invite yourself along to Eddie and I’s thing and then you ruin my chances with the very hot lead singer of the band. You did that for what, huh? Shits and giggles? I don’t give a shit who you are Harrington, that’s too fucking far,” you yelled, rage boiling beneath your hot skin.

“He wasn’t that hot,” Steve scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes widened. Eddie, who had just made it out to the parking lot, was surprised there wasn’t steam shooting out of your ears at this point.

“Is that the only thing you fucking heard from what I just said?” you brought your hands to your forehead in exasperation. “You’re such an asshole! I thought it would end when we graduated. Like you’d grow up a bit after graduation day. Hell, Robin said you’d matured, changed, and left the King Steve shtick behind. Eddie is one of your best friends now, the boy you taunted for years. So what is it about me, huh? Why are you suddenly too golden-hearted to bully everyone else but you never stopped fucking with me?” you had gotten close to Steve, not that you noticed through your tunneled vision of anger. Your heavy breaths fanned across Steve’s lips as you awaited his response.

“I-” Steve opened his mouth to respond and then quickly shut it. He didn’t know. Well maybe he did know, somewhere deep down, but it wasn’t something he could say to you now. Not in The Hideout’s parking lot where a crowd had started growing around you. Steve stepped back, creating the space between you that you desperately lacked at the moment.

“That’s what I thought,” you stepped back too, turning to walk towards Eddie. You quickly stopped, facing Steve once more. “Do me a favor, find some other girl to lurk around for a while. It's bad enough that you live next door. I really don’t need you following me wherever I go like some fucking creep,” you spun on your heels again, grabbing the drink from Eddie’s outstretched hand and throwing it back like it was fruit juice.

Eddie unlocked the van and you slid inside, slamming the door behind you. Eddie’s eyes met Steve’s with a grimace. Eddie looked at you in the van and then back to Steve. Steve got the message; Eddie couldn’t take you both home together. Maybe Steve was the one with telepathy instead. Eddie’s remorseful eyes searched Steve from across the lot. Steve conceded, gesturing for Eddie to take you. He was the one that fucked up anyway. If anything he deserved to be the one that had to call a cab. Eddie shot Steve a tight-lipped smile before hopping into his van and driving off. Steve watched the van’s taillights as Eddie rolled through a stop sign, speeding off into the night.

The light in your room was off when the cab finally dropped Steve off at home. He wasn’t surprised, expecting that you’d be at Eddie's trailer, erasing the night from your thoughts with a shared joint. Steve trudged up the stairs, opening and closing his door softly behind him so he didn’t wake his parents. They’d be gone for another business trip in the morning, leaving one less thing for him to worry about tomorrow. Steve’s window was still open from earlier, allowing the cool night air to seep in. He laid back on his bed, thoughts racing in the silence. And that’s when he heard it. A soft sob, then a sniffle. A deep breath, then another sob.

Steve sat up, his gaze aimed in the direction of the sound. His eyes landed on you, sitting on the floor of your darkened room with your back against your bed. Your window was cracked open, the way you normally kept it at night, allowing the birds to wake you with their songs in the morning. Steve stood, moving towards the window. You couldn’t see him from this angle, not that you would have been able to regardless with the tears clouding your vision. Steve frowned. An ache in his chest, the same one he’d felt whenever he heard you cry, flourished within him. He wanted to comfort you. To wrap an arm around you and let cry into his chest. To tell you it would be okay and ask who’s ass he needed to kick. But he couldn’t. You weren’t friends. You hated him. And it’s not like he could kick his own ass.

He didn’t realize, didn’t even feel it, but a tear slipped down his cheek, matching the flood that crowded yours. Steve lifted his hands to rest on the window, leaning against it as his brows furrowed over the broken look on your face. He pushed down, shutting the window softly, locking it, and closing the curtains. He couldn’t listen to you cry anymore. He remembered what you said, and he didn’t want to linger. The tear rolled off Steve’s chin, drowning a little unsuspecting green soldier on the window sill below. Steve moved away from the window and laid back on his bed. He felt around his pants pocket and fished out the knotted cherry stem. Steve’s eyes roamed over it for too long before he set it aside on his nightstand and closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep that night, no matter how hard tried. In the quiet dark of his room, Steve swore he could still hear your muffled cries.

Drunk under a street light

Black and white flickered from the TV screen, illuminating the dark room that you lounged in. You were lazing on the couch, mindlessly picking at the bowl of popcorn in your lap. The movie playing across the room did nothing to pull your unfocused stare from the coffee table in front of you. It wasn’t until you received a light kick to the thigh that you could finally shifted your eyes away.

“Okay, ouch,” you glared at Robin who was lying across the couch beside you, feet practically draped across your lap. She sat up, digging her hand into the bowl of popcorn. Her perfume scent lingered in the air around you even after she pulled back. It was sweet and light like she had just finished baking a batch of sugar cookies.

“You’ve been begging me to watch Casablanca with you for months and you’re not even paying attention to it now that I actually am,” she lifted her hand towards the screen before bringing her handful of popcorn to her lips. It's true. You had been dying to get someone to watch Casablanca with you for ages. Eddie watched it once and then refused to do it again after he ended up crying at the ending. Rick Blaine’s selfless act of giving up his one true love to give her a better life brought tears to the cold-hearted boy’s eyes. He made you promise not to tell anyone, especially Dustin.

“Sorry Rob, I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” you apologized, trying your best to pay attention to the movie again. You’d been zoned out for the entire first half of the movie, not that it mattered. You knew exactly what was happening on screen, given that you’d seen the movie a million times. It got to a point where Steve started keeping a copy under the counter at Family Video so there was always one available when you came in.

“Are you thinking about Steve?” Robin asked, her voice overpowering Ingrid Bergman’s as Ilsa confessed why she left Rick alone in Paris. Your head snapped towards the girl beside you and you could see the faint smirk growing on her lips.

“Why would I be thinking about Steve?” you answered her question with your own. The smirk fell from her lips then and she rolled her eyes. Robin sat up, pressing pause on the remote.

“Because he was totally jealous and caused some huge blowout fight between the two of you. And when I say huge I mean huge. It’s been over a week and you still won’t even acknowledge that he exists,” Robin explained, turning to face you better. You sighed and faced her too. You tried to avoid talking about Steve with Robin. Ever since they became friends it seemed too weird to talk shit about him in front of her.

“First of all, Steve definitely wasn’t jealous. He’s just a menace that loves to torment me,” Robin snorted a laugh but didn’t interrupt, allowing you to continue. “Second, Steve and I aren’t friends so me not talking to him for a week really isn’t that big of a deal,” Robin shrugged at that, seeing your point. “And third, how the hell do you know about all of this?” a guilty look spread across Robin’s face and you quickly realized the answer to your question. “Eddie’s got a big mouth,” Robin nodded in agreement at your words.

“I would’ve figured it out regardless. Steve’s been moping around for days. He’s really beating himself up over the whole thing,” you chuckled and Robin shot you a confused glare.

“What? I find it hard to believe that Steve Harrington even remotely cares about anything that has to do with me. Well unless it has to do with making my life a living hell,” you leaned back again, digging your hand into the popcorn bowl once more. Robin just stared at you, obviously baffled by something.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe somewhere in Steve’s caveman brain all this ‘torment’ is actually his way of expressing that he likes you?” Robin asked and repositioned the blanket that covered her lap. You stopped mid-chew, considering Robin’s words. You swallowed hard, sitting up and placing the popcorn bowl down on the couch between you.

“So what, Steve pulls my pigtails on the playground and it’s all okay just because he likes me? That’s such a toxic ideology, Rob. Not only that, but the suggestion that Steve actually likes me is insane. I mean have you heard the worm story?” you felt defensive, as if you were being attacked even though you weren't. You couldn’t understand why your heart wouldn’t stop racing at the thought of Steve liking you.

“Of course, I’ve heard the goddamn worm story,” Robin threw her hands in the air, nearly knocking over the popcorn in the process. “And I didn’t say that it was a healthy way of expressing his feelings. It just might be the only way he knows how. It’s not like his parents are great role models in teaching him about love and stuff,” a quiet fell over the room while your head raced at Robin’s words. You’d been so wrapped up in your feud with Steve that you hadn’t taken the time to consider his life outside of you.

You knew Steve’s parents were pretty absent based on the lack of cars in the driveway. And it was well known across town that Mr. Harrington was an asshole, no need to grow up next door to figure that out. Steve adored his dad when he was younger, and talked about how he wanted to be just like him. But you had heard the fights that seeped through the open windows in the years that followed. The disappointment that filled Mr. Harrington’s face when he entered Steve’s bedroom and saw the movie posters lining the walls. You wondered then what Steve’s parents thought of his decision to forgo college. Whether they argued with his choice, fought with him to take a chance to change his future, or if they just accepted it, not expecting much else from their disappointing son.

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Robin studied your face as you spoke. You looked lost, like you were questioning your past with Steve. After a moment the hint of a smile graced your lips and Robin furrowed her brow. “Still doesn’t mean he likes me,” you quirked as Robin sat up, grabbing another handful of popcorn.

“Oh whatever,” she launched her fistful of popcorn at you, hitting your face with the popped kernels before they fell to your lap. You retaliated, throwing popcorn back at her. The popcorn fight quickly ended when Robin picked up the bowl, dumping the rest of its contents over your head. The two of you fell into a fit of laughter while you tried, and failed, to pick the popcorn kernels from your hair. Eventually, you gave up, resting your head on Robin’s shoulder, the crunch of the popcorn sounding off as you did. Her shoulder was bony, uncomfortably stabbing your cheek with each delicate press against it, but you didn’t mind. Neither of you was very touchy-feely with each other, though you were never sure why, so it was nice to have a rare moment of intimacy. It granted you a deeper understanding of one another and a peak into the mysterious ways that each of your brains worked.

“Go to a party with me tonight?” Robin asked softly, not quite ready to leave the comfortable quiet just yet. You kept your head still on her shoulder and closed your eyes, inhaling sharply.

“Since when do you actively attend parties?” you questioned and Robin’s shoulder shook beneath you as she let out a gentle laugh. It was a comforting sound, like waves at the beach or rain on the pavement. That’s what Robin was to you. A comfort. Sure, Eddie was your best friend and you’d known him longer, but Robin understood you in a way that he didn’t. She controlled your chaos and balanced it with ease and truth. Robin matched your energy, knew what was best for you, and made you feel heard.

“Since Vickie asked me to go,” Robin winced out the words, anticipating your shift away from her side. Just as Robin thought, you lifted your head, turning to face her.

“So you’re not inviting me to go to a party, you’re inviting me to Third Wheel all night?” you raised your brow, eyes pouring into the girl beside you. Robin winced, shrinking into her spot on the couch. “Alright, I’ll go. Got nothing better to do anyway,” Robin cheered triumphantly at your concession, standing to go to your room and start getting ready together. You stopped her, gesturing to the popcorn that littered the couch and floor. She groaned, reluctantly helping you clean up the mess she made.

You’d walked to the party, arriving after everything was already in full swing. The sticky air reeked of weed and cheap booze as you pushed your way through the front door. It was sweltering inside the house. Sweaty bodies pressed themselves closely together on the dance floor, sipping on whatever deadly concoction resided in the punch bowl. Robin made a beeline for Vickie as soon as she walked through the door. There were familiar faces, people you knew from high school and whatnot, but no one you particularly fancied talking to. That is until you saw a mop of brown curls approaching with a black lunch box in his hands.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” you called out over the boombox that was blaring music throughout the room. Eddie wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to walk along with him. He guided you to the kitchen, stopping in front of a countertop littered with booze. You weighed your drink options, eventually pouring some vodka and Sprite into a solo cup, disappointed at the lack of cherry grenadine. You held up a bottle of rum pointed in Eddie’s direction, but he shook his head.

“Strictly business tonight sweetheart,” Eddie patted the lunchbox in his hands. You nodded in understanding, bringing your cup to your lips. “Where’s Buckley?” he asked, suddenly noticing the missing girl that he was sure dragged you here. You didn’t even have to speak, just pointing your finger to where Robin danced with Vickie across the room. Her hair was already a mess and her cheeks were flushed bright pink. You were about to say something else, keep your conversation with Eddie going, when he received a tap on his shoulder. It was some jock looking to make a deal. Eddie gave your hand a quick squeeze in place of goodbye and led the guy to the back of the house.

So there you were, standing alone in a crowded kitchen, regretting your decision to come in the first place. If only Nancy or Jonathan were there to keep you company, too bad they were both off at their respective colleges. Hell, you might even take Steve’s companionship at this point, because the longer you leaned against this countertop, the more boxed in you felt. What you didn’t know was that Steve was there. He thought it would be a good way to get his mind off your fight, but as he stood in the corner of this too-hot house, sipping a lukewarm beer, and listening to his old basketball teammate drone on and on about how they should’ve won the championship game their senior year, Steve realized he was wrong.

It especially didn’t help when his eyes scanned the room and somehow landed on you. You were alone, searching the room, presumably for a familiar face, when he spotted you. Luckily for Steve, you remained oblivious to his watchful gaze, giving him some time to study you since he felt like he hadn’t been able to in ages. He considered going over to you, to keep you company, but before he could even take a step, someone else approached you first. Your face dropped to a scowl at the sight of the freckled boy who now stood in front of you.

“What’s wrong Baby? Not happy to see me?” Tommy asked, a devilish grin hiding his lips. Steve was rooted to the spot, unable to move. He wanted to march over to you, drag you away from the douchebag before you, but he couldn’t will his legs to trudge across the congested room. He was never good at standing up for you, especially not to Tommy.

“Is anyone ever happy to see you?” you asked, crossing your arms and keeping a close grip on your cup. Tommy looked you up and down, hungry eyes boring into your skin. Suddenly you wished you brought a sweater to cover your bare shoulders. Steve still watched you from afar, his stomach turning at the desire that lingered in Tommy’s expression.

“There are plenty of girls around here that love when I show up,” Tommy grinned, leaning in closer. He reminded you of a shark with his teeth bared, waiting for a lowly seal to stumble into his pathway. “I could show you why if you come upstairs with me,” his lips came dangerously close to your ear, muffling the music that rattled the room.

“I’ll pass,” you grimaced at his offer. Tommy’s grin faltered and you brought your cup to your lips with a shrug, trying not to look too smug at your denial of his advances. That must have been what set Tommy over the edge. He reached up, slapping the cup from your hand, ignoring the liquid that splashed over you both. His face leaned in close as his arms caged you against the counter.

“Fuck you,” he spat, his face close to yours. “You’re just some weirdo bitch anyway,” you were scared at that point, terrified even, but you remained calm. Showing your fear would be the worst thing to do. Steve’s heart raced in his chest as he watched Tommy corner you. He took a step forward, moving in your direction.

“A weirdo bitch that won’t fuck you,” you fired back at Tommy and his face turned red with fury. Maybe poking the bear wasn’t a good idea. Suddenly someone knocked Tommy to the side, freeing you from him. You looked up, seeing a flash of red hair and someone in a striped shirt. Vickie and Robin.

“Woah man, we were spinning around and kinda lost control. Didn’t even see you there,” Robin leaned down to where Tommy now sat on the floor. She shot you a wink when he wasn’t looking. Vickie offered him a hand, but he brushed her off, standing on his own. He looked around, catching the glances of some of the partygoers, and stomped off, too embarrassed to continue trying to pursue you. Steve had made it about halfway through the crowded living room when Robin and Vickie took down Tommy in some sort of weird spin attack. He stood there now, watching as they checked over you. “You alright?” Robin asked you while Vickie inspected you for any bruises or blemishes from Tommy.

“Yeah, I’m all good. Think I’m just gonna go actually,” you looked down at your shirt, taking inventory of how damp it was from your spilled drink.

“We’ll go with you,” Vickie spoke up, taking hold of your arm as if she would guide you out. You shook your head, sliding her hand down to yours and giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“No, you guys stay and have fun. I’m gonna try and hitch a ride. I’ve gotta know someone around here that’s planning on leaving soon,” you had no intentions of actually getting a ride from someone. But you knew Robin would never let you go if she knew you were going to walk home alone and you just needed to get out of there. You would ask Eddie, but you knew he needed the money he’d make from selling tonight so you didn’t want to bother him.

“Okay,” Robin nodded, granting you permission to leave. You gave her and Vickie a two-finger salute and made your way to the door. “No rides home from anyone on the basketball team. Past, present, or future. I swear all of those guys are creeps,” Robin called after you, turning a few heads as she did. You chuckled, continuing on to the door.

Steve still stood in the living room, watching the three of you closely. His eyes followed you as you trekked through the crowd to the door. Once you finally made it outside, his gaze shifted back to Robin only to find that she was already looking at him. She motioned with her head to the door, encouraging him to follow after you. So he did. Steve threw away his half-drunk beer and burst through the door. You were already halfway down the block when he got in his car and pulled up next to you.

It was cold outside, especially for early September, a chill lacing the breeze with each gust. It definitely didn’t help that your shirt was still soaked through. You saw the headlights of a car approaching behind you, brushing it off as you shivered and pulled your arms close. It took you a moment to realize that the car hadn’t passed you yet. You turned your head, suddenly facing a maroon BMW with its windows rolled down. A groan escaped your lips, but you still bent down to peer through the window. Steve’s car came to a stop, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of your exasperated face.

“You stalking me now, Harrington?” Steve let out a chuckle and a gust of wind picked up, making you shiver again.

“You wish. Come on, get in and I’ll drive us home,” he studied your face, searching for a sign that you’d agree. He couldn’t find one, your body unmoving from your spot on the sidewalk.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking. Plus Robin said no rides from anyone on the basketball team,” you shot him a sly smirk and stood up straight, continuing your walk through the neighborhood. You’d expected Steve to drive off then, leaving you to walk in peace. But he didn’t, his car followed alongside you. “What are you doing?” you asked, stopping again to see Steve through the passenger window.

“If you won’t let me drive you home, then I’ll just drive next to you,” Steve shrugged, looking up at you.

“What if I cut through someone’s backyard?” you asked and Steve shrugged again, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Then some people are gonna be really pissed to see tire tracks on their lawn,” he replied and you almost wanted to laugh at his persistence, entertained by Steve’s unwillingness to let you be alone. His smile faltered then. “You and I both know the kind of shit that lurks around Hawkins at night,” any amusement from before had slipped away. None of you mentioned the Upside Down much now, not after finally defeating Vecna. It was final, the battle that ended the war, destroying the Upside Down for good. You couldn’t help the lingering fear that you’d missed something, that one day it would all return. And here, on the sidewalk after some lame party, you realized that Steve shared that fear too.

“Ok,” you said simply, shocking Steve as you pulled on the passenger door handle and slid into the seat next to him. He waited until you buckled up before rolling up the windows and driving off. It was quiet in the car, the lingering tension of all the unspoken words swirling in the air. Steve heard the sound of your teeth chattering and your hands brushing the goosebumps on your arms. He quickly reached into the back, grabbed an old sweatshirt that sat there, and handed it to you. Normally you would’ve rejected it, your pride too inflated to accept help from Steve in any form. But it was cold, your shirt was wet, and your conversation from earlier with Robin still lingered in the forefront of your mind.

Steve didn’t expect you to take his sweatshirt so easily, replacing his hand on the wheel when he felt the weight of it lift from his palm. You pulled his sweatshirt on, reveling in the warmth it provided. It smelled like hairspray and lavender, a hint of boy mixed with the two. It smelled like Steve. Silence settled over the two of you again and Steve couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” the words burst from within him, head turning to look at you for a moment. You looked calm and objective like Steve hadn’t even spoken in the first place. “The whole thing at The Hideout was so stupid. I don’t even know why I did that,” you looked at him then, expression still neutral. “I guess I just feel like I need to protect you and I took it too far,” your brow scrunched at that, finally giving Steve an insight into your thoughts.

“Protect me? You and Tommy tormented me for years,” anger rose in your throat. You hadn’t meant to get mad, still considering what Robin said, but Steve’s twisted claim brought it out of you in the way that only he could.

“I know, I know. And I’m sorry about that too. I just- I just wanted to fit in, to be cool. But I realize now that none of that shit ever mattered. I mean, how important was popularity when the one person that I actually cared about couldn’t stand me?” Steve spoke and the tension in your face dropped. The one person Steve cared about? Was he talking about you? You took a deep breath, thinking over your words when the car came to a stop in front of your driveway.

“Steve,” you spoke softly, almost a whisper, like the breeze rattling through the trees. “I can’t just forget about all of it because you’ve abruptly changed. I can’t just decide to be your friend all of a sudden. You hurt me, for a long time. Hell, you still do,” Steve winced, wanting to turn back time to when you were five, when nothing bad had happened to you yet and things were much simpler.

“I know,” Steve’s head sunk, his chest aching with each passing second.

“I just,” you stopped, jumbled thoughts bouncing around your head. “I just think it’s easier when we keep ourselves apart. It doesn’t hurt as much that way,” the streetlights above reflected the swelling tears in your eyes as they threatened to spill. You hadn’t meant to cry, and you surely didn’t want to. Steve understood your sentiments. Being around you only reminded him of how it could’ve been if he hadn’t tried so hard to fit in. If he hadn’t screwed it all up.

“But maybe we could try. Try to be friends,” the words surprised Steve as they left his lips. They came out far bolder than he felt capable of being at the moment. “Group settings, public places. Baby steps, you know?” Steve tried to stop the hope building in his chest, too worried about the damage it would do if you said no. But you didn’t.

“Maybe,” you said in a whisper, a tear finally tracking down your cheek. A soft smile slipped over Steve’s lips, the same one he wore around you as a kid. The same smile you saw before he traipsed over the hill, leaving you on the sidewalk with the worms. Your lips twitched upwards for a second before you pulled the door handle and exited the car.

The feeling of hope now took full form, blossoming in Steve’s chest, filling every crack and crevice between his ribs. He watched you walk up to your front door, still wearing his sweatshirt, slipping inside your house with a small wave in Steve’s direction. Steve put the car back in gear, pulling into his driveway next door. He shut the car off and leaned back in his seat, still unable to wipe the smile from his face. Maybe. He could work with maybe.

You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding

Eddie’s van was a mess. Your legs brushed against fast food wrappers while cigarette butts covered the floor, crunching under your sneakers. It smelled like weed and sweat with a hint of the black ice air freshener that you forced him to buy a while ago. It was early afternoon, the sun still high in the sky as Eddie made a right turn out of your neighborhood.

“Why are we doing this again?” you asked, shifting to look at Eddie. He had his hair pulled up into a messy bun that you insisted on doing for him. It was a rare and rather unwelcome hairstyle for the metalhead, but it was well warranted for the occasion.

“Because Buckley wants to learn how to play basketball and Harrington asked for my help,” Eddie shrugged, approaching a stop sign and making a left. You rolled your eyes, letting out a huff of air from your chest.

“But you hate basketball,” you groaned, wondering why Robin would even want to learn how to play in the first place.

“Yes, but they’re my friends and they asked for my help, so my help they shall receive,” normally you would have laughed at Eddie’s goofiness, but the thought of being around Steve loomed over your head. You still hadn’t seen each other since the party, just glimpses through bedroom windows. It was hard to say where either of you stood with each other. Becoming friends seemed like an impossible feat on your part, too stuck in the past to care about the potential future.

“Okay, so why am I included in this? Steve didn’t ask for my help,” you pulled your feet from the trash-covered floor, finally sick enough of how the garbage touched your ankles. Your feet rested on the seat and you hugged your knees close to your chest. Your head sat atop them, watching Eddie closely with narrow eyes, trying to figure out if this was some scheme to get you near Steve.

“Each team needs two players, Baby. Kind of hard to play a two v. two with only three people,” you let out another groan and Eddie smirked in response, knowing you couldn’t refute him anymore. He made a sharp right turn, pulling up to the outdoor basketball courts that sat behind the high school. Eddie turned off the engine and tapped your knee. It was his way of telling you to get out of the car and lock your door behind you. The two of you began your walk over and could just barely make out three figures through the holes in the chain link fence that surrounded the basketball courts.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear athletic shorts before. I might pass out at the sight of your legs,” you said to Eddie as the two of you walked through the gate, entering the basketball court. You barely had time to accentuate your comment with a smirk before Eddie leaned in close.

“Reel it in, Baby. Best not to flirt with me in front of Harrington. Wouldn’t want to risk him getting jealous again,” your face grew hot at Eddie’s comment, the thought of a jealous Steve stirring something deep in the pit of your stomach, something like desire. Eddie donned a stupid smile as you approached Robin, Steve, and Lucas in the middle of the court.

“What’s up with you?” Steve asked, noticing your flustered appearance. Your eyes darted back over to Eddie, who continued to wear the same shit-eating grin as before.

“Nothing, just ready to play some basketball,” you deflected and Steve nodded, covering the basic rules of the game. Lucas was acting as the referee for the match, making it feel much more intense than it should have. That’s probably why you took it so seriously, covering Robin as if your life depended on it. Steve won the tip-off, sending the ball back to Robin. She caught it and began to dribble towards the basket. She looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time as she made her way up the court, nearly smacking the ball away from herself in the process. You used it to your advantage, managing to grab the ball from her, dribbling up the opposite side of the court, and scoring a basket from the three-point line. Steve retaliated after that, shooting his own shot and tying the score. It continued like that for a bit, Eddie and Robin eventually gave up on trying to cover the both of you, which was how you ended up in front of Steve, desperately attempting to block his shot.

“Worried you’re gonna miss?” you taunted as Steve dribbled in front of you, your back to the basket. A cocky smirk overtook his lips then, bringing the ball up to shoot. It would’ve gone in too, if you hadn’t smacked it out of the air, stealing it for yourself. You sprinted down the court towards the other basket with Steve hot on your trail. He managed to get in front of you and you turned your back towards him, protecting the ball in the meantime before you could get a clear shot. “Come on, Harrington. I thought you were the team captain back in high school. Figured you’d be better than this,” you knew it was dangerous, teasing him in such a flirty way, but it was all in good fun, right?

“Oh, I’ll show you, Baby,” Steve practically whispered into your ear, his chest pressing against your back. If you weren’t so focused on beating Steve you would’ve felt the goosebumps that littered your spine. Steve’s arms came up to circle you, so you moved, pivoting to take your shot and knocking Steve out of the way in the process. He lost his balance as the ball left your fingertips. You felt Steve’s hands find your torso as you watched the ball tip into the basket, dragging you down with him as he fell. Your shirt had ridden up when you made your shot, causing Steve’s fingers to brush against your bare skin. It felt like you were falling in slow motion until you finally landed hard on top of Steve, your back flush to his chest.

Pain shot up your sides as Steve’s fingernails scraped against the semi-healed scars that resided there. You got up quickly, not taking the time to register your pain, lifting your shirt again to see that the wounds had broken open on both sides. It took Steve a second to get up after hitting the ground so hard. The others rushed toward the two of you, but your eyes landed on Steve, his gaze already honed in on the fresh blood pooling on your skin. His hands came down to his own torso, feeling the scarred flesh that matched yours.

After everything was said and done, the dust settled and Vecna gone for good, there was only the matter of medical care to worry about. Eddie was mostly unscathed, with a few bat bites here and there, but nothing some disinfectant and band-aids couldn’t fix. Lucas was sure to have a swollen eye, cuts, and bruises after fighting Jason. Max was delivered to the hospital where the doctors said she would make a full recovery but might need a pair of glasses. Which just left you and Steve. You had jumped in right after him at Lover’s Lake, fighting your way through the water as he was tugged deeper below. When you popped out of the gate mere seconds after him, the bats swarmed you too. It wasn’t until Nancy appeared, oar in hand, that you managed to escape the feeling of the bat’s teeth sinking into your skin.

The bats had gotten you good, doing just as much damage to you as they had to Steve. When the fight was over and everyone was safely right-side-up, you refused to get medical care, worried that you’d be poked and prodded while Owens’ doctors tried to study your wounds. Steve refused too, unwilling to be treated unless you were first, not that you knew that.

Robin and Eddie insisted on staying with the two of you to make sure nothing bad happened in the middle of the night. But you said no, pointing out that Eddie needed to stay hidden until his name was cleared. Not to mention that you just wanted to be alone after the strenuousness of the previous few days. You assured Robin and Eddie that your parents would take care of you if anything happened, same with Steve. They reluctantly agreed, dropping you and Steve off in front of your house, leaving the two of you to go your separate ways.

You were about to trudge up the lawn and enter your house, thinking about finally being able to sleep, when you caught sight of Steve’s empty driveway. You hadn’t even thought about the fact that his parents were out of town, and he hadn’t mentioned it to Eddie or Robin either. Steve had already started walking towards his house when you called his name.

“You didn’t say that your parents weren’t home,” you jogged up to him, wincing at the pain that shot up your side. Steve shrugged, also looking desperate for a decent night of sleep. Steve turned around again, continuing towards his house, leaving you on his lawn. You started following him until he saw you from the corner of his eye and stopped again.

“What are you doing?” the words sounded twisted as they fell from his lips, the same venom you expected from the boy who bullied you for years. Your face grew hot with anger, suddenly wondering if you should just turn back around and retreat to your house.

“You can’t be alone tonight, not when you’re in such bad shape,” you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to come across firmly in an attempt to discourage Steve from arguing with you. He simply raised a brow in question.

“I think I’ll be fine,” he moved to turn on his heel again, to scale his front steps and enter the cold empty house before him. But your arm shot out, landing on his arm and stopping him in his tracks. Steve froze, mind racing at the feel of your skin against his. He couldn’t remember the last time you touched him, given that you usually kept your distance whenever he was near.

“Steve, I can’t leave you alone in good conscience. If you bleed out and die, that’s on me,” you spoke the words quietly, almost sounding embarrassed to have to say them at all. Steve studied you, eyes roaming over your face. The walls you kept up around him seemingly fell in that moment as he caught sight of the worry hidden deep in your gaze. He nodded then, giving in and leading you to his front door, trying not to look visibly upset when your hand no longer held him.

The house was just as you remembered from when you were a kid. Clean and organized, everything in its designated place. It always frightened you back then, a house so pristine that it didn’t look like anyone could possibly live there. You followed Steve as he ascended the staircase, both of you winded and clutching your wounds when you got to the top. Steve showered in the bathroom attached to his room, offering you a towel and clean clothes before sending you off to the guest bathroom.

The hot water pulsed down on you, blood and grime swirling around the drain at your feet. The water seared your skin with each drop, but you didn’t mind, hoping the sweltering heat would rid you of the horrors you’d witnessed within the past few days. The sight of Eddie being tackled to the ground by a swarm of bats. The sound of Steve’s screams as his flesh was torn open. Your own wails of pain as the bats did the same to you a few feet away. Max’s broken limbs and unfocused eyes as Lucas held her in his arms on the way to the hospital.

You turned the shower off, unwilling to let your thoughts run rampant anymore. You were careful when drying off, avoiding your wounds to keep blood from soiling Mrs. Harrington’s stark white towels. She’d be sure to have a fit at the sight of a stain. You dressed quickly, pulling Steve’s old shirt and baggy sweatpants on. There wasn’t a first aid kit in the guest bathroom, so you headed back to Steve’s room, holding your shirt away from your body to avoid getting blood on it. You knocked gently on Steve’s bedroom door and it only took a moment for him to open it for you.

His hair was wet, a towel draped over his bare shoulders. He was shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips as water dripped down his hairy chest. Your eyes lingered there for a moment before trailing to the bandages wrapped around his torso. Steve’s eyes followed yours, landing on the gauze tied tightly to his skin.

“I seem to get the shit beat out of me anytime something like this happens,” he used his towel to gently pat his hair dry. “I’ve gotten pretty good at patching myself up,” Steve shrugged, hanging the towel on the back of his bathroom door.

“Can you do mine?” you asked quietly, lifting your shirt to reveal your wounds. Steve’s gaze flickered down to them, blood from each gash threatening to spill down your sides. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of your exposed skin. It was dumb, just your stomach on display, but it took Steve a second to contain himself. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, memories of your bare skin seen on the few occasions that you forgot to close your curtains before changing. Steve always looked away, but the flashes of your skin were seared into his brain. He nodded in response to your question, going into the bathroom with you trailing behind him. He told you to sit on the counter, pulling out the first aid kit from the cabinet next to your dangling legs. Steve wiped each wound with an antiseptic wipe, cleaning the area and sopping up the thin blood that surrounded it. His hands were gentle and soft like he was afraid to touch you, to break you.

“Hold this,” Steve placed a gauze pad on one of the wounds, his fingers guiding your hand to rest over it, holding it in place. He ignored the tingle in his fingers as his skin brushed yours, moving on to place another pad over the other blemish. Your hand came up automatically, holding it in place without Steve having to tell you again. He unraveled the rest of the gauze, slowly wrapping it around your waist, softly brushing your hands away when he no longer needed you to hold the pads in place. Steve circled it around you a few times, finally securing the gauze tightly in place with a swift knot.

“Thank you, Steve,” you whispered, his face close to yours. Steve hummed in response, letting his eyes drift to your lips for a moment too long before pulling himself away and packing up the first aid kit. He returned it to the cabinet, his shoulder brushing your leg in the process, sending chills down his spine.

Steve stood then, opening the linen closet by the door, searching for a blanket to give you in case the guest room got too cold. You were tired, to the point of exhaustion really, longing to lay your head against a soft pillow. But fear came creeping in, the demons in your closet, or the demogorgons rather, holding your mind hostage. The fears controlled you then, in combination with the exhaustion, speaking words from your lips that you otherwise wouldn’t have even considered muttering.

“Can I sleep in here? With you?” when you were first dropped off all you could think about was finally being alone, but as you sat there now, Steve's clothes covering your skin, you realized that wasn’t what you wanted at all. Steve froze, and his quest to find a blanket quickly halted. He looked up at you, taking in the heavy bags under your eyes, the weight of the past few days slumping your shoulders forward. He knew under normal circumstances that you never would have asked, and probably couldn’t have even stood being in the same room as him for more than two minutes, but these weren’t normal circumstances. And he would take what he could get.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll sleep on the floor. You can take the bed,” Steve turned to the linen closet once more, searching for a blanket for himself this time. He heard you slide off the counter, thinking you’d brush past him and get into his bed, but you didn’t. You stopped next to him, pulling Steve’s focus to you.

“You can’t sleep on the floor. What if you bleed out? I’d never know if you were down there. At least not until the morning,” Steve placed his hands on your shoulders, ceasing your seemingly endless babble. Your eyes were wide and bloodshot, staring back at Steve with a worried brow.

“Okay,” he agreed, trying to calm himself, the jitters of being so close to you creeping in. “We’ll both sleep in my bed,” his hands fell to his sides and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Steve left the bathroom, turning out the light as he did. You slid into Steve’s bed, the sheets pulled up around you as Steve switched off his lamp. The bed dipped beside you from Steve’s weight. You went to roll over, trying to face him, but you were met with pain, gasping and clutching your side with a hiss. Steve shot up, trying to help you but only injuring himself with his sharp movement in the process. You couldn’t help but laugh as you both settled down onto your backs.

“Aren’t we a pair,” you mumbled and Steve chuckled beside you. The room was dark, filled with the scent of a burned-out candle, Steve's lavender-scented shampoo, dirty laundry, and something else inherently Steve. Your eyes watched the ceiling, lying in silence next to the boy you supposedly hated. He rustled around beside you, trying to get comfortable. In a normal situation, you would’ve snapped at him for moving the bed so much, but right now you found it amusing. After another minute of restless movement, he let out a groan.

“I normally sleep on my stomach, but this shit makes it impossible,” annoyance laced his tone as he referred to the bat bites lining the front of his stomach. Your head turned in his direction, silently taking in his side profile, his sharp nose, and long eyelashes. He almost looked normal if you ignored the angry ring of red flesh lining his neck.

“I’m a side sleeper,” you spoke softly, Steve’s head turning towards your voice. For some reason, he liked hearing more about you, even if it was just something as silly as how you normally slept. “I’m in the same boat as you, Harrington,” the wounds on your sides making it impossible to lay that way. Steve could just make out the shadows of your face in the dim light. The curve of your lips, the arch of your brow, the tip of your nose. He thought you looked beautiful. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop the bats from getting you,” your lip quivered then, tears welling in your eyes as you lived up to your crybaby nickname. You weren’t sure where the burst of emotion came from, chalking it up to the exhaustion that weighed heavily upon you. Steve lifted his head, his hand coming up to brush away your tears.

“Are you kidding? You jumped in right after me. If you hadn’t been there I would’ve been dead in less than a minute. You distracted some of them. I would’ve been bat food if not for you. If anyone’s sorry it should be me,” you shook your head and Steve’s hand came down to rest on your cheek, thumb rubbing circles against it gently as he spoke. Why were you letting him hold you like this? Why did it feel so comforting? You sniffled, trying to stop your tears from falling. “Baby, you saved me. I need you to know that,” you nodded at his reassurance, too choked up still to use your words. Your eyes were heavy by then, the lack of sleep weighing in on you even more.

“I'm glad I went through that gate then,” you mumbled, words barely audible through your sleep-slurred speech. With the last of your energy, you moved, rolling onto your stomach, the wounds on your sides untouched by the mattress. Steve followed your lead, moving onto his side, and facing you. His arm draped across you, careful to avoid your wounds, and a soft sigh left your lips as your eyes slowly closed. Your breath evened out soon after, slowed inhales and exhales taking over. Steve’s fingers found the bulge of the cotton pads on your side, tracing across them gently, a comforting gesture that you’d never know about. He wished he had superpowers, the ability to heal you with just a touch. But he didn’t, so he’d do this instead, easing your pain with a soft touch while you slept.

When you woke in the morning you had the overwhelming urge to pee. You slid gently from Steve’s embrace, somehow managing to get even closer to him during the night. You tiptoed to the bathroom, not wanting to wake the sleeping boy. The large mirror covering the wall taunted you when you finished, urging you to take a peek beneath the gauze. You caved, hands gently pushing the gauze to the side. The bleeding had stopped and the gashes already started looking better. It was curious how well they had cleared up overnight, but you just shrugged, used to the strangeness of the supernatural by now. You climbed back into bed with Steve after putting the bandages back into place. You wanted another minute of peace, a moment, maybe the last of its kind, when you and Steve didn’t hurt each other. When Steve Harrington was still the boy you knew, not the one you’d grown to loathe.

“Shit Steve, seriously?” You winced as the blood began to trickle down your skin. “It’s a basketball game, not tackle football,” you lost your balance for a moment, Lucas’ arms shooting up to steady you. Steve stood speechless, incapable of fathoming how his hands did so much harm to you. The skin had never quite healed right, you suppose, more fragile than most other places on your body. “Eddie, can you take me home,” you asked, trying to keep your shirt from getting wet with blood, knowing your shorts were a lost cause with scarlet droplets already pooling at the waistband. Eddie nodded quickly, rushing to your side as if he had to carry you to the van.

“I can take you. I mean, I live next door. I’ll clean you up,” Steve suddenly was able to find words, knocked out of his stupor. He moved towards you then, but you raised your hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“I asked Eddie,” you spoke with a glare, already walking toward the court’s exit. Eddie shot Steve a sympathetic look before following behind you. Robin lifted her hand to comfortingly pat Steve’s back while his mouth fell slightly agape. You got into the van with a wince and Eddie closed the door for you. Robin, Steve, and Lucas were filing off the court then. Steve’s head was down while he unlocked his car. Eddie turned the keys in the ignition, started the van, and began to pull out of the lot.

It was an accident, you knew that, so why did it frustrate you so much? The same hands that once held yours as children now were the ones to lacerate your skin. Maybe it was the ache you buried deep inside, the one you’d never been able to alleviate, the pain Steve perpetuated for years. The one you hadn’t been able to forgive him for no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you wanted to. He left you, tossed you aside like you were some old sweater discarded beneath his bed, like you were nothing. It seemed never-ending like you’d never escape his harmful grasp. You wanted to be five again when the world seemed so much kinder and you loved Steve Harrington. Maybe the latter was still true, maybe that’s why he scarred you more than the others ever had.

As Eddie drove towards the exit, your gaze drifted up, landing on Steve. Robin and Lucas had already gotten into Steve’s car, but he stood outside of it, arms resting on the crook between the car’s roof and the door. His eyes followed you through the van window as Eddie sped away. A strange look overtook Steve’s face, one you couldn’t quite read. It was the look of a boy that never wanted to hurt you, but somehow constantly did.

I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs

The sun hid behind the clouds, peaks of light streaming through the cracks in the sky. Tires rolled against the pavement, making their way across town. The radio was low in the car, some Fleetwood Mac song lulling softly through the air. Your car was old, covered in dents and scratches, with windows that only opened halfway and an engine that grumbled with each press to the gas pedal. Even though your parents offered to help you buy a new one, a more reliable form of transportation, you refused. This car held too many memories in its stained cloth seats. Your first kiss in the backseat, jam sessions with Eddie, driving Will, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas to the science fair where they finally got first place again. You couldn’t let it go, not yet, not while it still had some life in it. You knew how much it sucked to be abandoned.

The tires screeched and squealed as you turned into the Family Video parking lot. You pulled into a space near the front of the store, dim headlights shutting off when you pulled the keys from the ignition. Robin had told you she was working today, but as you looked around you were unable to find her bike in its normal place on the bike rack. You did however spot a maroon BMW parked near the back of the lot. That lying bitch. A sigh fell from your lips, eyes closing at the thought of seeing Steve. It had been two days since the basketball incident and you had been sure to keep your distance. Steve’s sorry eyes peeked through bedroom windows and only made you feel guilty for getting mad at him in the first place. But you couldn’t stall this any longer, the movies were due today and you’d be pissed if you got another late fee. So you grabbed the tapes from the passenger seat, holding them close to your chest as you closed your car door and walked through the entrance to Family Video.

Steve stood hunched over the counter, the same way he normally did when the store was empty like it was now. His eyes were glued to the magazine that rested on the counter before him. It was a Cosmopolitan. He was ashamed to admit that he was searching its pages for tips on how to get back in your good graces. So far he was coming up short, but he still skimmed through it anyway. The bell rang above the door, signaling to Steve that a customer had entered.

“Welcome to Family Video. My name’s Steve. Let me know if you need help with anything,” the words spilled from Steve’s lips automatically, his gaze still glued to the magazine. It took Steve a moment to register the silence he received in response, brushing it off as another inconsiderate customer. At least that’s what he thought until a stack of tapes slammed down on the counter beside him. Steve looked up then, seeing you standing across from him with raised eyebrows. Your eyes trailed down to Steve’s magazine, and his gaze followed yours. In less than a second, Steve had slid the magazine off the counter, quickly tossing behind him. You simply blinked, an amused smile blossoming on your lips as the magazine crashed to the floor.

“I want to return some tapes,” you couldn’t help the smirk that remained as you spoke, pushing the stack of video tapes in front of the boy. Steve nodded, picking up the first tape and scanning it back into the system. “What were you reading there, Harrington?” he could hear your smile through your amused tone, refusing to meet your eyes as he continued to scan your tapes.

“Sports Illustrated,” Steve lied, ignoring the way your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You couldn’t contain your laughter anymore, clutching your sides as giggles poured from your throat. Your laughter was contagious, causing a few chuckles to spring out of Steve too.

“Whatever you say, Harrington,” you composed yourself, finally ceasing your giggles, but the smile remained taut on your lips. Steve handed over your receipt for the returned tapes, expecting you to leave after clutching it in your hands, but you didn’t. Your feet drifted over to the movie-lined aisles and Steve couldn’t help but follow, tripping over his discarded magazine in the process.

Eventually, you stopped in front of a shelf, Steve watched the way you studied your options. When one finally caught your attention you leaned up, standing on your tippy toes to grab it. Your shirt rode up in the process, revealing the large bandages that covered the wounds on your sides. Steve’s heart dropped, the memories of the basketball game, the whole reason he had been reading that stupid magazine in the first place, flooded his mind. Just as your fingers brushed the front of the tape, seconds from getting ahold of it, Steve’s hand lifted it instead, offering it to you.

“Thanks,” you said sincerely, only then noticing the kicked puppy look on Steve’s face. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Steve beat you to it.

“I’m so sorry about the other day. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got carried away,” Steve’s gaze drifted to the ground, missing the pity that swelled in your eyes. “I’m sorry this shit keeps happening. It’s just that when I’m with you I can’t seem to function like a normal person,” he lifted his head then, catching a glimpse of emotion in your expression. Regret? Or is it that underlying anger you saved just for him?

“It’s fine, Steve,” you assured him, but the boy wasn’t comforted. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but you didn’t let him. “Dude, I’m sick of hearing you apologize. It's fine. If anything I should apologize for being such a bitch about it. It was an accident, let’s move on,” Steve eyed you, unsure whether you were messing with him or not. But you were serious, hoping that the old Steve still lived within the boy in front of you, and that one day you could make amends. Maybe this was the first step, and if that meant forgiving him for something he accidentally did, then so be it. “Check me out?” you asked, holding the tape up for Steve to see. He nodded, going back behind the counter. He reached down, grabbing a copy of Casablanca from under the counter and placing it next to the movie you had just picked out, but you shook your head.

“You don’t want it?” Steve asked, suddenly wondering if you had been kidnapped and replaced by a clone. That was the only logical explanation for your behavioral change towards both him and your favorite movie.

“Kinda bored of complicated romances at the moment. Maybe another day,” Steve slid the movie back under the counter, keeping it there in case you changed your mind. “I heard this one was good though,” you gesture to the copy of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off that you had picked out.

“Yeah, Robin said that she thinks I’d like it. Haven’t had a chance to watch it yet though,” Steve scanned the tape, fixing his gaze on the computer, where he typed in the code for his employee discount. He did it every time you came in during his shift, thinking he was sly and that you’d never noticed, but you caught on a while ago. It came to light after a rousing argument with Robin about how she had been overcharging you.

You pulled a few crumpled bills from your purse, handing them over to Steve. He waited, knowing you were now going to dig around your purse until you found some coins, never willing to pay with anything other than exact change. After a few seconds, you pulled the coins out, two quarters, a dime, and three pennies. You placed them gently in Steve’s extended hand. His palm tingled with the brush of your fingers, quickly sorting the coins to alleviate the sensation. He handed you the bag with your tape when he finished putting your change away. With a small smile, you turned, heading back towards the door you entered through. Just as you were about to place your hand on the large handle and push it open, you stopped. Steve, who had been watching as you walked away, felt that dreaded sense of hope again, the one he felt so often when you were near.

“What time do you get done here?” Steve’s eyebrows raised, taken aback by your question. His mouth opened, fumbling for words as he checked his watch.

“Thirty-two minutes. Why?” you chuckled at his sudden nervousness. Maybe he really had come a long way from his days as King Steve. King Steve never would’ve struggled like this when talking to a girl.

“Do you want to watch this with me?” you held up the bag that housed the Ferris Bueller VHS, extending an olive branch. Steve’s response was immediate like he didn’t even need to think about it.

“Yes,” it was a simple answer, but you just nodded in return, a shy smile creasing the corners of your mouth. “We can watch it at my place. My TV is bigger,” Steve smirked, regaining his charming and flirty tone, the one you’d gotten so familiar with as a result of all the teasing. You rolled your eyes at the innuendo, smile still cresting your lips, and pushed your way through the exit.

“Whatever you say, Harrington,” you called out behind you, repeating the same words from earlier. Steve laughed, watching your retreating figure, the sway of your hips, and the swell of your ass. He looked at his watch again, still displaying the same time as when he had checked just moments before. Steve groaned into his hands. This was going to be the longest thirty-two minutes of his life.

You were enveloped in a book, sitting on your window bench when a light tap sounded off next to you. Thinking it was just the old house creaking or something, you ignored it, eyes scanning the next page. That’s when it happened again, and again, and again. You pulled back your curtains and flung open the window only to narrowly avoid getting smacked in the face by a pebble.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve swore, his cheeks turning red with guilt and embarrassment. He was standing below your window, pebbles spilling out of his hand. A week or two ago, hell maybe even a few days ago, you would’ve gone off on him, screaming about nearly hurting you and potentially damaging your window. But now, you just smiled, taking in the sight of the boy next door. Only Steve Harrington could make a romantic gesture nearly turn into a trip to the hospital. “I tried to leave you a message, but your curtains were closed,” you glanced over to his window, spotting the piece of loose leaf taped to it with the words ‘come over?’ scrawled in black ink.

“Give me two seconds,” you pulled your head back inside, closing the window behind you. As you did, a few of the army men on your window sill fell on their sides, no longer facing the window across the gap between two houses. Snagging the video tape from your desk, you ran down the steps, stopping in front of the mirror hung up in the hallway. Why did you suddenly care how your hair looked around Steve? Brushing off the thought, you continued, opening the front door to be met by the boy next door.

“Ready?” he asked and you nodded, following as he turned towards his house. You walked closely behind him, catching a whiff of hairspray, lavender, and cologne. Steve led you to the rec room in the basement, which housed the largest television in the Harrington residence. You handed him the tape and he slid it into the VCR before settling on the couch, a good two feet from where you sat. Neither of you mentioned the distance, just watching the movie and laughing at Ferris’ goofy antics.

As the movie progressed a chill ran through you, goosebumps prickling your skin. The Harrington’s seemingly liked to keep their basement ice cold. Steve noticed and pulled down the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. He laid it on his lap, extending the end of it towards you. You accepted his silent invitation, closing the gap and sitting close with the blanket wrapped around the two of you. The rest of the movie was spent that way, thighs brushing against one another when either of you moved.

When the credits finally ended, with Ferris Bueller in his bathrobe disappearing from the screen one last time, you felt at ease. You hadn’t expected to feel so comfortable with Steve, but it was almost a relief that you managed to get through a whole movie without wanting to kill him.

“That was so good. Robin was totally right, I loved it. I'm basically Ferris Bueller so it makes sense I guess,” Steve shrugged and you couldn’t hold back the laugh that bloomed from your lips at his comment. Steve turned to look at you, a brow arched in confusion at your humor. “What?” he asked bluntly, a hint of amusement on his face.

“You would think that you’re Ferris,” you spoke, looking smug. Steve's lips stretched into a daring grin, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Okay, if I’m not Ferris then who am I?” Steve leaned in close and you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder.

“It’s so obvious that you’re Cameron. Sure, the people that don’t know you that well might think you’re Ferris, but I know you Steve Harrington, and you’re Cameron fully and completely,” your grin widened with Steve’s look of exasperation. His hand flew to his chest in mock offense.

“What the hell makes me Cameron?” his words still had the air of joviality behind them despite his faux wounded front. The corner of your lips faltered then, suddenly reluctant to divulge more about your characterization of the boy before you. You didn’t want to tell him what he already knew, that he and Cameron shared a strained relationship with their fathers, both all too afraid of disappointing the men who raised them. That up until recently both boys took all the shit that their fathers gave them, too freighted to stand up to them. You didn’t want to say any of it, which was fine because Steve already knew. From the second Cameron appeared on the screen, the voice in the back of Steve’s head pointed out each similarity that they shared. Silence settled over the two of you, smiles fading in the quiet room.

“If it makes you feel better,” you began, voice small and fingers fidgeting on your lap. Steve wanted to reach over and grab them, encase your fingers with his, but he restrained himself. “Cameron was my favorite character in the movie,” you nodded towards the TV screen that now reflected a blank blue shadow over the pair of you. Steve observed your bashful demeanor, thinking about how cute you looked when you got all shy.

“You would definitely be Jeanie,” Steve asserted, breaking through the uncomfortable quiet. Your jaw dropped at the comparison and the smile returned to Steve’s lips at your reaction.

“Ferris’s bitchy sister?” Steve nodded and you shoved him again. He righted himself, continuing to make his point.

“I mean, come on, it’s so obvious,” Steve repeated your words from earlier and you shook your head. “You’re both a little crazy in a hot way. Not to mention you both go for bad boys,” you glared at Steve, but he could tell you weren’t actually mad.

“I’m not into bad boys, asshole,” you defended and Steve’s smirk grew, his rebuttal already concocted in his head.

“Oh really? So it wasn’t you that hooked up with Billy Hargrove at Tina’s Halloween party two years ago?” your jaw dropped again, and Steve’s snickering filled the air. He reached over, pressing your chin up to close your mouth. You brushed his hand off of you in confusion.

“How the hell do you know about that?” you asked, confusion and curiosity coursing through your thoughts. “Did Eddie tell you? I swear to god I’m never telling him anything ever again,” you crossed your arms, waiting for Steve to talk.

“Hargrove used to brag about it to me and try to rub it in my face,” Steve informed you and your face wrinkled, filled with questions. “I guess he thought that it would make me mad since you and I used to be friends or whatever,” Steve shrugged, no longer smiling. He watched you, unsure how you would react to his explanation.

“Did it?” you questioned, and Steve shrugged again. He didn’t want to tell you that it did, that it took every fiber of his being to restrain himself from punching the blond boy’s stupid face.

“A little,” Steve lied and another silence fell over the room, but it wasn’t as tense this time. Steve waited a moment before speaking again, watching the way you avoided his gaze. “Why’d you even hook up with him? I thought you hated him,” Steve’s voice was quiet, unwilling to break through the low noise barrier that settled between you.

“You stole my copy of Pride and Prejudice,” you let out a sigh, gaze shifting to your hands that rested in your lap again. Steve’s brow furrowed, confused about the correlation between his question and your response. “It was the copy my grandma gave me when I was 11. I had notes in the margins on just about every page. You took it from my bag in homeroom the day before the party and refused to give it back,” Steve knew what you were talking about. He couldn’t remember why he took it, but he knew that he still had it, tucked away in his closet, in a spot that only he could find.

“But what does that have to do with Billy?” Steve still didn’t understand. Your hands ran over your face as you let out a sigh.

“You hated him and he hated you. I figured the enemy of my enemy was my friend, which wasn’t true by the way. I was super pissed about the book and a little tipsy. I needed to blow off some steam, so one thing led to another and we hooked up in his car after the party,” you were ashamed of it, regret filling you the second it was over. “I didn’t know that he was such a douchebag when it happened. If I had known how badly he treated Max and Lucas then I never would’ve done it,” you explained, still unable to meet Steve’s gaze, embarrassed by your past. Steve’s hand extended, tilting your chin with his finger, allowing your eyes to finally meet his.

“I shouldn't have taken your book, Baby,” Steve whispered and you gave him a soft smile in return. The nickname rang through the air and reverberated off the walls. Hearing it didn’t bother you for some reason. For the first time in years, the word didn’t sting as it fell from Steve’s lips. Maybe the tide finally turned, the war nearly over. It gave you a sense of courage, making you brave enough to let your next question out in the open.

“When Billy bragged about it, what did he say?” Steve was taken aback, wondering why you would want to know. Billy’s words were far from nice, if anything they were disrespectful and an invasion of privacy. But the way you looked at Steve now told him that you genuinely wanted to know, needed to know.

“It was really depraved stuff, like how your body felt against him,” Steve started and you nodded, motioning with your hands for him to continue. “He said you would start to breathe heavily when he kissed your neck. That you did this thing with your tongue when you kissed that felt insanely good. He said you moaned his name like it was made just for you to say it. That your thighs shook when you…” Steve trailed off, face flushed and unwilling to finish his sentence. He had started speaking slower with each sentence, despite the racing of his heart. The tension floated thick in the air, crowding the room and making it way too hot for the blanket draped over your lap. Steve wasn’t sure when his hand had dropped to your lap, brushing between your legs from over the blanket.

Your eyes were glued to Steve’s, unaware of the distance that disappeared between you with each passing second. His breath mingled with yours, tingling against your skin. Your tongue darted out, bringing moisture to your dry lips. The heat between your thighs ached to be relieved, wishing Steve’s hand would travel higher up your thigh as his jeans tightened at the sight of your gaze alone. The blue from the TV screen that coated the room disappeared as your eyes fluttered shut. Both sets of lips were centimeters from meeting in the middle when the VCR popped out the tape, landing with a loud smack on the ground. Steve had leaned on the remote while moving closer toward you, accidentally pressing the eject button. He knew he needed to fix the VCR, worried about its tendency to spit out tapes rather than the slow half push it was supposed to do, but he’d put it off, too tired after a long day of work. You broke apart at the sound, creating more distance as you moved the blanket from your legs and scrambled back, Steve’s hand falling into the now empty space. Neither of you could look up at the other.

“I wish we stayed friends when we were in middle school,” Steve said after a long span of silence. He never wanted to be your enemy, never wanted to drive you into the arms of an undeserving man. Your eyes met then, his were glassy, which was something you hadn’t expected.

“Yeah, me too,” your voice was small but sure, words speaking nothing but the truth. You didn’t remind him why you weren’t, something you would’ve done a week ago. Instead, you sat in agreement, pondering how different your life would be.

“I wonder what would've changed,” he spoke. It was soft, almost a whisper, and you longed to be close to him again. To feel his words fan across your lips instead of the empty space beside you. “If I would’ve been friends with Tommy, if I would’ve dated Nancy, if we’d be off at a college somewhere instead of this shithole town,” Steve was louder now, melancholy mixed with underlying anger. Even if you were finally able to be friends now, Steve couldn’t help but think about the time he missed out on with you and all the other lingering what-ifs.

“We could still get out one day. Leave the teen angst and trauma behind,” you sounded normal again, reassuring to Steve’s overactive thoughts. “Maybe we could go together,” Steve’s heart leaped out of his chest at your words, but he reeled it back in. It was still new, being able to talk without words slicing into the other’s skin. You looked at him with anticipatory eyes, awaiting his response.

“Just give me the signal Baby and we can be out of here before sunrise,” Steve extended his hand, this was a deal to shake on, a long-term agreement that one day you’d run away together. You grinned, accepting his outstretched hand, wondering about where you’d go. Considering if you were in love with Steve Harrington, if you always had been. Dying to know if he was in love with you too.

A friend to all is a friend to none

Autumn had officially begun, a chill in the air that persuaded the orange leaves to tumble from the trees. It was your favorite time of year, though you couldn’t help the twinge of sadness that swelled in your heart at the thought of leaving the warm summer sun behind. Eddie insisted that you come to visit him at work, his desperation ringing out through the static of the phone. After a few minutes of groveling, you caved and agreed to go, which is how you ended up banished to the backseat of Steve’s car on the way to the record store on main street. Robin had called shotgun, but you didn’t mind, having the entire backseat to yourself and stretching out your legs. Steve’s car smelled like pine trees and leather, hairspray and cologne, as it rolled along the pavement.

Steve pulled up to a parking spot in front of the record store, placing his hand on the passenger seat headrest as he threw the car in reverse. He turned his head towards the car’s rear, watching carefully as he backed into a spot, shooting you a wink before he faced the front again. You couldn’t help the warmth that spread over your cheeks, feeling like a bumbling schoolgirl with a crush. Ever since your movie night, your almost kiss, things had been different with Steve. Sure, there was still some teasing and the typical dirty innuendos, but it didn’t sting the way it used to. It didn’t evolve into slammed windows and drawn curtains, loud arguments and bruised egos. Something new coursed through your veins, your heart beating just to hear the sound of his voice. It was scary, the rush of feelings that you’d seemingly repressed for years, hidden under what you thought was hate.

“You coming or what?” Robin leaned back into Steve’s car to face you. The thoughts of Steve had distracted you and you only now noticed that they had already exited the car. You followed suit, unbuckling and sliding across the seat to get out on Steve’s side. He greeted you with an arm slung around your shoulder, purposely messing up your hair in the process. You swatted at him, smoothing your hair back down as you walked through the store’s entrance together. Music wafted down from the speakers that littered the ceiling and you instantly knew that Eddie had picked out whatever metal song was playing. As if he could hear the mention of his name in your thoughts, Eddie appeared in front of you, grabbing ahold of your wrist and dragging you towards the front counter. Meanwhile, Robin and Steve headed towards the back, searching for some Abba vinyl that Steve had been wanting for ages. The absence of Steve’s arm around your shoulder left you with a chill, the tingle brought on by his touch subsiding, but you brushed it aside following the long-haired boy.

You went behind the counter with Eddie, hopping up to sit in the space between the cash register and the pile of records stacked to the left. It was a familiar spot for you, somewhere you’d sat a million times, much to Eddie’s manager’s dismay. In this spot, you’d talk about dates that you went on, someone from high school who got knocked up or married, a new song Eddie was working on, and your hatred for Steve Harrington. But this time was different. Eddie remained silent as you perched before him, crossing his arms over his chest and peering at you with knowing eyes. He came to stand in front of you, his stomach brushing against your knees. You glared at him in response, already knowing the words that were about to crest his lips.

“You and Harrington have been awfully close lately,” a smirk danced across his face, arms uncrossing, hands landing to rest on your knees. You narrowed your eyes, placing your hands behind you, and leaning back on them.

“We’re sort of friends now, I guess,” you shrugged and Eddie leaned in even closer, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead as if he was testing your temperature. You smacked his hand away, earning a yelp in response. The grin reappeared on Eddie’s lips as he shook his hand to alleviate the pain caused by your slap.

“Friends, huh?” you nodded as his question, eyeing Eddie for his next move. Someone entered the store, the chime of the bell over the door alerting the both of you. But the two of you didn’t flinch, didn’t even spare the new customer a glance, too enveloped in your weird standoff staring contest. Instead, Eddie called out his standard greeting, welcoming the person to Rad Records, as his eyes roamed over you, searching for an unspecified answer. “Just friends, nothing more?” Eddie finally continued, needing more evidence to make his case, to find the answer to his unasked question. And you gave it to him, eyes darting away from his and legs beginning to bounce. Eddie’s jaw dropped, a gasp seeping from the open space between his lips.

“Shut the fuck up, Edward,” you rushed out, clamping your hand over his slack jaw. Eddie’s wide eyes trailed from you to Steve and back. His lips moved behind your hand, trying to speak, but you shushed him, refusing to let go until he calmed down. You cringed at the swipe of his tongue against your palm, but still held on tight. After a few seconds, Eddie stopped and you took it as a sign to set him free. Your hand retracted, falling limply onto your lap, where you wiped his saliva onto your jeans.

“Holy shit. You like him. You actually, consciously, like him,” Eddie whisper-yelled at you and it took a considerable amount of effort to not spontaneously combust at his words. It’s one thing to finally admit it to yourself, it’s another to hear it spoken out loud. Still, you felt like there was a ritual you had to play along with, like you had to deny the accusation.

“I so do not,” you spoke stubbornly, but Eddie could hear the give in your voice, knowing the truth.

“You totally do. The fact that it’s taken you this long to realize is insane,” Robin spoke up from behind you, startling you with her sudden appearance. You looked beside her, expecting to see Steve, but he wasn’t there. You didn’t know whether to be sad or relieved by his absence from the conversation.

“Where is Steve anyway?” you shifted on the counter, making space for Robin to rest her elbows next to you. Robin nodded towards the back of the store. Steve’s figure was obscured by the towering displays that littered the room.

“Some guy that he knew from the basketball team came in and started talking to him. Steve called him Jumpy or something. I dipped out as soon as I could, so Steve’s stuck back there now,” you cringed at the name that fell from Robin’s lips. Jumpy was the dumbass nickname of Allen Peterson, some douchebag that was friends with Tommy.

“Ugh, he and Tommy once broke into the girl’s locker room during gym and stole my clothes. I had to walk around in my gym uniform for the rest of the day. It was humiliating,” a frown bloomed on your lips, one that was echoed by Eddie and Robin.

“I remember that. They somehow never got caught,” Eddie’s eyes trailed to the back of the store, still unable to spot Steve. “You want me to kick him out?” Eddie’s eyebrows raised in question, almost begging for the chance to kick someone out of the store. But you shook your head, tapping his shoulder so he’d move out of the way. He did, stepping to the side, allowing you to slide down from the glass counter.

“I want to see if he remembers me. Maybe mess with him a bit,” Eddie and Robin waved you off as you walked towards the back, the top of Steve’s perfectly styled hair coming into view as you got closer. You approached from behind Steve, not able to get a good view of his face. You were still hidden, questioning whether you should continue with your plan or not. Wondering if Allen would do something to upset you, tease you, and make you feel small. But Steve was there, and how could he hurt you when the boy you loved was standing by your side? Just as you were about to take a step out, you heard something, Allen’s voice.

“Dude, I can’t believe you’ve been hanging out with such losers,” Allen’s words elicited a soft scoff from your lips. He peaked in high school but here he was calling you a loser? You wished you could see Steve’s face, to know what was running through his mind, the witty comeback that was sure to leave his lips any second now. But it didn’t. All you heard was the smooth sound of his laugh dancing through the store.

“Come on, man. They’re not that bad,” you brushed off Steve’s weak, delayed defense. At least he stood up for you in some regard, that’s what matters.

“Nah man, that Baby chick is nuts. I remember how weird she was in high school, always crying over something. Sometimes I just wanted to bend her over and give her something to cry about, you know?” Allen mimed thrusting his hips as his words hung in the air. It made you feel dirty and violated, like he had already touched you in the way he said that he wanted to. The boy viewed you as an object, nothing more than something to be used to satisfy his needs. Your eyes bore into the back of Steve’s head, willing him to speak up on your behalf. To defend you, to protect you, to punch this asshole in the face. But Steve was never good at defending you and all he did was laugh again. That irritatingly coy laugh, the one that set off alarm bells whenever you heard it. The laugh that belonged to the reigning king, not the boy you loved.

“Oh yeah, totally. One good screw would straighten her right out,” at that moment you could’ve sworn that the entire town could hear your heart as it shattered. You weren’t really sure when you revealed yourself from your hiding spot behind the bookshelf, but your eyes locked with Allen’s, and his stupid smirk dropped. Steve tracked his gaze, spinning on his heels to see you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes, forehead creased, and red-hot anger coursing through you. You turned, moving as fast as you could towards the exit at the front of the store. Steve chased behind you, his hand catching your arm right after you passed through the door. Eddie and Robin looked alarmed at the sight of you both stopped before the store’s glass front.

“Let go of me,” you spoke hotly, cursing the strength of Steve’s grip. Steve’s eyes roamed over you, catching the flicker of hurt that flashed across your face before you restored it to its angry glare.

“I didn’t mean it. It’s just-” Steve began, but you quickly cut him off, still trying to wrangle your arm from his grasp.

“I don’t give a shit what you meant, Harrington. I thought you changed. I forgave you for all the shit you put me through. Guess I wrong to think you were capable of being a decent person,” Steve’s eyes watered at your words, hating himself for making you doubt him and how he feels for you.

“I have changed. I don’t know why I said that shit,” Steve pleaded, he wanted you to understand, to give him five minutes to explain himself. But Steve knew this was it, you’d already made your decision, it wouldn’t matter even if he got down on his knees and begged. He’d broken your trust, said shit he didn’t mean, and now he’d lost you again, the same way he did years before, the way he never wanted to again. Steve let go of your arm, giving you the freedom you asked for when you first left the record store with him in tow. Your arm felt numb, empty, without Steve’s hand there, and you cursed your stupid heart for not wanting him to let go.

“I guess old habits die hard, Harrington. Stay the fuck out of my life,” your words spat from deep within you, fire coating each syllable. Steve watched as you turned, making your way down the sidewalk and turning into an alleyway between two stores. Eddie and Robin burst through the record store’s entrance, ignoring the autumn chill that they were greeted with as they did. Steve wiped his eyes, glad to have tears clouding his vision because he was not sure he could stand to see his best friend's face as he recounted the past few minutes to her. Eddie looked to Steve, silently asking where you went, and Steve lifted his hand pointing in your direction. Eddie took off, turning the corner to the alley to find you slumped on the ground, knees to your chest and head in your hands. He approached you slowly, pulling you into him when he finally got close enough. Sobs racked your body, chest heaving against Eddie’s as he held you in a tight hug, knees resting on the cement below.

“I hate him, Eds. I fucking hate him,” Eddie nodded in understanding, stroking your hair and pulling it from where it stuck to your tear-stained cheeks. “I should’ve known he’d break my heart again. I should’ve known not to let myself fall in love with him,” your tears soaked Eddie’s shirt and he froze, stuck on the words that fell from your lips. Love. Sure, he’d known you liked Steve, but love was different. Love meant more hurt. It held more weight. It meant that you set aside the past and moved on. It meant you finally gave in to the feelings that gnawed at your heart and your brain each night. It meant that Steve really fucked up.

Chasing shadows in the grocery line

Steve’s car finally peeled away and flew down main street, signaling to Eddie that the coast was clear. He walked you back to the now barren record store, save for his co-worker Terry, who was in the back unpacking a new shipment. Eddie asked Terry to cover for him and when Terry saw your tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes, he agreed, no questions asked. So Eddie put you in the passenger seat of his van and sped off down the road. You didn’t ask where he was going when he passed the street that led to your house, already knowing where he was taking you.

Eddie’s van stopped abruptly in front of his trailer. Wayne’s car was gone, signaling that he’d already left for work, leaving the trailer empty. It was getting dark, gloomy clouds blocking the sun as the moon rose in the sky opposite it. The porch lights flickered on, illuminating the shadows of your face through the cracked windshield. You caught sight of Lucas’ bike through the back window. It was lying on its side outside of Max’s trailer, thrown in haste. Normally it would’ve made you laugh, elicit a joke about young lovebirds to fall from your lips, but right now you couldn’t even will the corners of your lips to curl into a faint smile.

Eddie opened your car door, gently lifting you by your waist and placing you on the ground. You followed him inside, trailing behind him like a lost, heartbroken puppy with nowhere else to go. He led you to his room, indicating for you to sit on his bed, so you did. Eddie placed a soft kiss on your forehead, the kind a mother gives her child, and lifted your arms. He disrobed you of your heavy knit sweater, your way of protecting yourself from the autumn winds that pierced the air, and replaced it with one of his Black Sabbath shirts. You unclipped your bra through the shirt, pulling it out of your sleeve before tossing it to the floor. The action always amazed Eddie, drawing a laugh from his lips, but this time he remained quiet, too concerned over you to pay attention to much else. Next, Eddie unlaced your shoes, pulling them from your feet. You shimmied from your pants after, throwing them across the room, uncaring where they landed.

With a shaky breath, you laid down, facing the wall, your back turned to Eddie. Eddie pulled off his leather jacket, shucked off his jeans, and moved towards the bed. The mattress dipped beside you, Eddie’s body now close to yours. He pulled the bed sheets up to cover you both before draping his arm across your torso. You relaxed into him a bit, fingers and legs intertwining with one another. It was a familiar position, one you and Eddie had shared a million times, but his comforting touch wasn’t working quite the same as it normally did. Not when your heart hurt this much.

Eddie wanted to ask what happened, pester you with questions, and uncover the truth, but he refrained, knowing you’d speak up when the time was right. His heart ached at the feel of your body shaking against his, small sobs springing from deep within your chest no matter how much you wanted them to stop. Eddie only held you tighter, his arms practically crushing your ribs as his own tears began to well in his eyes. You stayed like that for a while, long after the sun fully sank beneath the horizon, leaving the room in complete consuming darkness. The wind caused sapling branches to scrape against the window, becoming the only sound to fill the lingering silence. You stopped crying after a while, wishing you could sleep the pain away, but remaining unsuccessful in your attempts.

Finally, you gave up, shifting to face Eddie, your forehead pressed to his. Breath intermingling, comforting you, letting you know that, yes, your heart may be broken, but you were still alive. Eddie studied you, unsure whether he should be the first to speak or not, but you quickly quelled that thought when you opened your mouth.

“Do you think you’ll ever leave Hawkins?” your question threw Eddie off, his brows scrunching in confusion. It’s not what he expected you to say.

“Not unless the band takes off, and certainly not without Wayne,” Eddie had thought about it before, considered moving to a big city where the lights never dimmed and the gigs would never end. But as much as Hawkins may have hated him, he could never hate it in return. He’d get sick of the city noise and never be able to sleep, craving to hear the chirp of crickets and cicadas instead. So when you asked, he was sure of his answer. But he didn’t echo your question back to you, already knowing that your answer would be a resounding yes. It would be tough for you to leave everyone behind, but you longed for something different, somewhere new to help escape the past and finally look forward to the future. Eddie was lost in thought, still wondering why you asked that when you spoke again.

“He’s exactly who I thought he was,” it was a whisper, one that could easily be lost, left hanging in the air with no one around to hear it echo off the peeling walls. But Eddie heard it, he absorbed your words from the silent room, wanting to know more, so you continued. “I thought he was different now, but it turns out he’s still the same, too wrapped up in caring about what others think,” fresh tears sprang in your eyes, a sob tightening your throat as you spoke. “I’m tired of fighting against his undying need to be liked. I’m tired of losing against it every goddamn time. I’m done,” there was a finality to your tone, one that caused Eddie to lift his head from his pillow, a questioning look on his face.

“Sweetheart, do you want me to talk to him? Figure out what’s running through his head?” Eddie offered, but he knew the gesture would be wasted on you. Once you set your mind to it, it was done. But he wanted you to hear Steve out. He wanted you to find a way to reconcile your differences. For all the pain and confusion that Steve Harrington brought, he also filled you with joy and light. You’d been happier throughout the past few weeks than Eddie had ever seen you, illuminating rooms simply by entering them. Eddie didn’t want that to disappear, to be forever obscured by a compilation of closed curtains and avoidant gazes. But he was met with a furious shake of your head.

“No, Eds. I mean it. No more Steve,” Eddie nodded despite the voice in his head yelling at him to speak up and try to change your mind. It was no use. He rolled onto his back, one arm resting under his head, the other still laid across you. You shifted too, laying with your chest pressed to Eddie’s stomach, head resting just below his. “I wish it was you that I loved. It’d be much simpler that way,” you’re not sure why you said it, maybe the cloud that formed in your head from the day’s events expanded, spilling all of your hazy thoughts through your lips. It was a sad wish, an empty hurt with truth behind it. But Eddie understood, his own thoughts reflecting yours, the telepathy finally working in a way. He wanted to take away your pain in any way he could, but not like this. Not when your heart was beaten black and blue, longing for a simple ceasefire to mend your open wounds. Not when that same heart belonged to another, an echoed call through the woods waiting for the birds in the treetops to sing back with an affirmative answer. Eddie loved you, but not in the way the both of you currently wished for. An irrefutable loyalty that would consciously be limited to platonic fellowship, no romance lingering from either party in the way you held each other close.

“I’m sorry, Baby,” Eddie’s whisper slid through the strands of your hair, a soft kiss placed overtop of it. You’d grown quiet by then, breath evening out as you were finally granted your wish for sleep. Falling deep into a slumber where you were still five and Steve Harrington tucked flowers behind your ears as he whispered to you about love.

Days had passed, an endless stream of the same heartache and emptiness that blended each rise and fall of the sun together, making it difficult to distinguish one from the next. Robin called you probably a million times, but you refused to come to the phone. Your parents opted to unplug the phone from the wall for a few days, growing tired of the incessant ringing. You knew she just wanted to talk about Steve, but that was something you couldn’t quite handle yet. You’d only plugged the phone back in to call out of work, letting them know you had a nasty stomach bug, not caring if they believed you or not. The curtains in your room remained closed with the little army men on the window sill replaced in their defensive stance. To you, this was war.

On the fifth day of refusing to depart from beneath your bed sheets, your mom entered your room, messing with the knick-knacks that covered your dresser as she did. A custom D20 from Dustin, a kazoo Eddie gave you for your birthday one year joking about how you could be Corroded Coffin’s lead kazoo player, a mixtape Robin lent you ages ago, a new pack of colored pencils you’d been meaning to give to Will, and a flower that had been dried and pressed into a glittery bookmark, all littered your dresser’s surface. Your mom grabbed the bookmark, admiring the way the lavender flower retained its shape despite being flattened so many years ago. It was the same lavender that grew from the ground beneath your bedroom window, decorating the grass between the Harrington’s house and your own. You watched closely as she eyed the bookmark, curiosity flooding your thoughts.

“I remember making this with you,” she spoke softly, a gentle cadence meant to comfort you, and it sort of did. “You came running inside with the flower and insisted that we save it. You said it was too important to let die,” she sat on the edge of your bed, bookmark still glinting in the soft glow of the lamplight. You propped yourself up on your elbows, wondering where she was going with all of this. She handed you the bookmark then, and you took it, confused, examining it as if you’d never seen it before.

“I don’t remember that,” your voice was hoarse from crying. It didn’t help that you hadn’t properly spoken out loud in days, too congested with the bustling thoughts running laps around your mind.

“You were five. And if I remember correctly a certain boy had been the one to pick the flower for you,” you understood then, she was talking about Steve. Part of you felt betrayed, like your mother was providing aid for the enemy, but the other part of you wanted to know more, why she wanted to talk about this, especially now. “We always assumed the two of you would be friends, lovers even,” she wagged her eyebrows at you and the corners of your lips ticked up at the gesture. “So it was strange to see the distance that grew between you, the pain you caused each other. I’d always hoped you’d resolve your differences, and fall back into the same ease you had as kids, but I know it’s more complicated than that,” her hand reached up, brushing softly against your cheek. You hadn’t realized that you were crying until her fingers swiped over the fallen tears. “I love you, my Baby,” her words were a whisper, gentle lips pressed to your forehead. She patted your leg through your comforter, standing up as she did. On her way to the door, she stopped, turning back to look at you. “Maybe some fresh air might help. A trip to the store?” she suggested and for some reason you nodded, actually thinking that it would be nice to leave your bed for a bit. She smiled, making her way out of your room to grab the grocery list for you. As she rounded the corner, one foot out the door, she couldn’t help but notice the tight grip you kept on the bookmark in your hand. The flower within it that was always in bloom. Something that could never die.

You opted to go to the store alone, wanting to drive with the windows down and the music up, drowning out the overcrowded space in your head. It was nice to leave the house, to be in an open space with autumn in the air. The crisp leaves crunched under your tires as you pulled into the grocery parking lot. You were so concerned about making sure that you had the list your mom gave you that you completely missed the maroon BMW parked on the opposite end of the lot. Once you had the list, you grabbed a cart, its wheels squeaking loudly as you made your way down aisles, grabbing item after item off the shelves.

There was only one thing left on your list, a bag of tortilla chips, which was your dad’s favorite snack food for some odd reason. You almost chuckled to yourself seeing how his scratchy handwriting interrupted your mom’s pristine list. With a squeal of protest from the shopping cart’s wheels, you turned the corner, eyes roaming over the chip options in front of you. You finally found what you were looking for and stood up on your tiptoes, the top shelf being just a bit too high for you to reach. A warmth washed over you as someone leaned into your space, large hands retrieving the bag and offering it to you. Your breath stopped for a moment and you found yourself unable to move.

“I’m just gonna put these in here then,” Steve spoke softly, placing the chip bag into your cart when you froze. He looked tired, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His hair was flat, almost greasy looking, lacking his usual abundance of hairspray and product. Steve watched you, the way you shrunk at the sight of him and he felt as though his heart had been torn from his chest. He never wanted to hurt you, to make you feel less than what you were. And to Steve, you were everything. Steve opened his mouth to speak, an apology sputtering from his lips, but the sight snapped you out of your stupor, suddenly springing to action.

“I told you to stop apologizing to me,” your voice was firm and cold, nothing like the ease it held back at Family Video the last time he tried to right his wrongs.

“Just let me explain, please,” he pleaded, eyes soft, a glimmer of familiarity in them. For a moment you almost let him, finding yourself more than willing to listen to the boy speak. You were reminded of the comfort you found in the sound of his voice recently, the swell it brought to your chest. But that vanished when you remembered the way he laughed when talking to Allen, his vile words leaving your glass heart shattered across the record store’s stained carpet. It felt like a slap to the face, a cut on your cheek, a crack in your rib. You meant what you said, you were done with him. The boy before you showed no growth. He was still the same boy who called you names, taunted you in the halls, stole your favorite book, and scared off the boys you liked.

“No,” it was stony and resolute, an end to the conversation. You pushed your cart away, leaving Steve behind, your shadow cascading over him as you did. You made your way to the register and Steve followed close behind. He got in line behind you, but he stayed quiet, unsure what to say. He only had two things in his basket, which made his checkout go by quickly. By the time he got out to the parking lot, you were still there, placing the hefty grocery bags into your trunk.

“Let me make it up to you,” Steve startled you, appearing at your side out of nowhere. “I swear I've changed, I promise. I care about you, so much,” you slammed your trunk closed, wheeling your cart back to where it belonged. Steve followed you, but you stayed silent, refusing to acknowledge his pleas. He stood in front of your car door then, blocking it so you couldn’t get in. “I don’t want to lose you again. Let me show you I care. Let me prove it,” he looked like he was on the verge of tears. Part of you wanted to reach out and hold his face in your hands. The other part wanted to hurt him more, make him feel what you felt. The latter won.

“You can’t prove shit to me, Harrington. I don’t believe it, any of it. You’re still the same stupid boy you were when we were 11, and I fucking hate you for it,” you spat and Steve’s face hardened. You wanted him to yell back at you, to prove that he felt something for you, something worth fighting for. But he didn’t. He simply stepped aside, a new slump in his posture as he let you go. His gaze followed the battered silhouette of your car as it drove off, a wisp of fallen leaves and Steve’s shredded heart trailing behind it.

When you got home you stormed inside, leaving the groceries in the car for your parents to unload. You fell back into your bed, resuming the same position you held before you went to the grocery store. It took some time, anger encapsulating your every fiber, but eventually, you fell asleep, putting the situation with Steve aside as you escaped to the peace of your dreams.

You awoke the next morning, groggy and sore. Rolling onto your back, you caught a glimpse of something from the corner of your eye, something that was out of place. Your body groaned as you arose, hesitant steps towards your desk, hands slowly lifting the object. It was a book, but not just any book. It was Pride and Prejudice, the copy that your grandmother gave you years ago, the one that was taken from you. You flipped through the pages, fingers tracing the words you’d penciled in on the margins. Stuck between its pages was a bookmark, your bookmark, with lavender and specks of glitter decorating it.

You sat back on your bed, wondering why the book was returned so suddenly and out of the blue. Your mom was the one to put it in your room, marking its pages with the bookmark, but Steve had been the one to take it years ago. Why did he keep it? Why give it back now? Was this the end? A bookend in your tumultuous relationship with the boy next door? A post-it note fell from between the book’s pages and you leaned down to grab it. Written in Steve’s messy scrawl was one word.

“Please.”

And you’d come back to me

The note was metaphorically stuck in your head, lingering like a bad dream that you couldn’t wake from. It didn’t help that it was physically stuck to your nightstand, its fluorescent green shade haunting you with each passing glance. But you just couldn’t will yourself to throw it away. It was a life preserver tossed to you after falling overboard, a worm on a hook meant to reel you in, a last attempt to fix what had been broken, to reconcile with Steve. You meant it when you said you were done, but the ache inside you longed to be quelled. And there was only one person that could do that. The least you could do was hear him out. Find closure, nothing more, or so you told yourself.

A few days had passed since your encounter at the grocery store and you finally felt brave enough to face Steve again. You knew he was home given that his car had scarcely left the driveway in the past few days. Your legs felt wobbly, knees knocking as you marched in the dark through your lawn, crossing over onto the Harrington’s property. It was late, but you knew he’d still be awake, just as plagued with his thoughts as you were. You jabbed the doorbell with your finger, waiting nervously for the door to open, to see the boy that plagued your thoughts. But it didn’t. So you rang it again, and again, and again. Repeatedly pressing the button until the door finally cracked open.

“I don’t want whatever you’re selling, man,” Steve began but stopped when he saw you, straightening his slumped shoulders. He looked worse than he had at the grocery store like he hadn’t slept in days. He let the door hang open as he gaped at you, unable to form words. You took advantage of the open space, slipping inside his house before he could stop you. Steve shut the door, turning to see what you were doing, but you’d already made your way upstairs to his room.

His room was pretty much the same as it had been the last time you were there, back when the world almost ended. Clothes strewn across the floor, trophies lining small shelves, movie posters galore. You noticed a new poster though, one for Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Steve finally caught up to you, his perpetual gloominess temporarily taken over by confusion as to why you were suddenly here in his house. You sat on the edge of his bed and he followed suit, worry filling his entire being. Was this the end? Did you come to say goodbye? Steve’s heart beat rapidly in his chest, panic rising in his throat when you finally spoke.

“You said you wanted to explain, so explain,” your voice was soft and quiet, a tone completely unlike the one you used when you were mad. Steve was baffled, wanting to know what made you decide to hear him out, but he knew better than to waste what very well could be his last chance with you.

“I didn’t mean what I said in the record store. I didn’t mean any of it. I wanted to beat the shit out of Allen when he said that stuff,” Steve’s hands shook as he spoke, watching your face for any sign of emotion. He wanted to know what you were thinking, wished he could read your mind. But he couldn’t, so he continued. “It’s like every time I’m around someone from high school, I get pushed aside and someone else takes control of what I say. Someone that reminds me a lot of my father,” angry tears welled in Steve’s eyes. He hated that after all these years his dad still had such an impact on him and the way he acted.

“Steve,” you spoke up, still emotionless in your tone. But Steve stopped you, wanting to continue, practically begging you with his glassy eyes to let him. So you did.

“I know it's not an excuse, and it's so so shitty of me. But he’s just there in the back of my head reminding me that Harrington’s are winners,” a tear dripped down his cheek and it took a great deal of restraint from you to not reach out and brush it away. “I hate that I let him win. I hate that I ever betrayed your trust, that I was so mean to you in school, that I let you out of my life. I hate that I let Allen get away with what he said, that I agreed with him instead, because I don’t. I think you’re beyond perfect the way you are. I don’t want to change anything about you,” Steve stopped for a moment unsure if you’d let him continue. Little did he know that your breath had caught in your chest and extinguished any words that might have spilled from your lips.

“I never ever want to hurt you again,” Steve continued when you didn’t say anything. “I promise, I won’t. I want to be better, I want to be the boy you trusted when we were kids. I care about you so unbelievably much. I never stopped, not once. Please let me prove it,” he’d moved closer to you and you let him, trying your best to keep your feelings hidden from your expression. You were close to breaking, to giving in, to letting yourself be unequivocally in love with Steve Harrington. But you still had to put up a fight, to prove it was the right choice, not just a never-ending loop of pain.

“I’ve given you so many chances, Steve. How do I know this one would be any different?” you couldn’t look at him, knowing you’d lose all your resolve if you did. So your eyes fell to your lap instead. Steve watched your avoidant gaze, wanting more than anything for you to face him.

“Because I love you,” it was firm and unwavering, a declaration spilled from Steve’s cracked lips. It snapped your attention to him immediately, granting Steve his previous wish. “I always have, even when we were kids. I got confused when popularity came into play, but it was still there, in the back of my mind. I didn’t know what it was then, but I do now, and I’ll do anything for you, anything to keep you with me,” Steve grew shy, still unable to tell how you feel. “I want you in any way that you’ll have me. Anything is fine with me as long as I have you back in my life. I just can’t lose you,” Steve finished, leaving his words in the air for you to respond. You took your time to collect your own thoughts, to steady the thump of your heart in your chest.

“Steve,” it was soft, gentle, longing, matching the tone Steve hoped to hear. “I don’t want to lose you either,” the words halted Steve’s heart in his chest. He hoped this was it, that you loved him the way he loved you. “I want to trust you again, but you have to earn it. We can't just keep hurting each other,” you asserted and Steve nodded wildly. You wanted to laugh at the way his hair flopped around on his head as he did it, but you refrained, simply letting a smile crest your lips instead. Steve’s lips matched yours, curling at the edges, and soon you found yourselves incapable of holding back the soft chuckles that rose in your throat.

Steve’s eyes never left you, admiring the smile he’d so dearly missed seeing. He only ever wanted for you to be happy, only wanted you to know you’re loved. And from here on out, he’d make sure that you were. You leaned forward resting your forehead against Steve’s, one last ditch attempt at your silly determination to communicate telepathically. It never worked with Eddie, so why not try it with Steve, the boy you loved since you were five. It would ease the tension, tell Steve what your lips were too scared to say.

“What am I thinking?” you asked, hands coming up to hold Steve’s shoulders in place. His hands wrapped around you, resting on your waist, feeling your scarred skin through the thin material of your shirt. Steve scoured his mind, focusing on you, the soft reflection of light in your eyes, the way your lips were dry and cracked, the curve of your cheekbones. You were more than beautiful to him, you were angelic, bewitching, radiant. You were everything he ever wanted and needed.

“That you like me too?” Steve put on his smug charm, trying to cover up his nervousness. It made you want to laugh, to kiss him, to tell him the truth.

“So close, Stevie. I was thinking more along the lines of love, but if that’s what you’re getting then, sure, we can go with that,” you shrugged jovially, a smile stretched across your cheeks as Steve’s jaw went slack. His eyes watched you for any sign of doubt, of mockery, but he couldn’t find any. He knew it then, you loved him too. Steve found your gaze, eyes whispering to him in their own secret language. Kiss me, they said, and who was he to deny them of their wish? Steve pulled you in, grip tightening on your waist as he did. Your chest was suddenly flush with his, your body now resting in his lap, lips only a breath away from meeting. It was a last chance to bow out, to give it up for good, but you didn’t want to. You tilted your chin, finally closing the gap and brushing your lips against Steve’s. The kiss was encompassed by every flower he’d ever picked for you, every peek behind closed curtains, every taunt and tease and fight, every innuendo, every unseen longing gaze, every utterance of the name Baby, all wrapped together. It felt like winning a game of hide-and-seek that had been called off after an hour of unsuccessful searching, a ring of smoke clinging to the air and lingering high only to be dissipated by the summer breeze, a ceasefire on the battlefield for a war that had gone on too long. It felt like Steve, and you couldn’t get enough of it. His lips danced with yours, never wanting to feel anything but the crush of you against him. But eventually, you ran out of air, pulling back enough to breathe, still keeping your forehead pressed to his.

“I think I knew you loved me because I always loved you too,” Steve’s words were breathy, softened with the heave of his chest. Your smile flashed through your heavy breaths and hot cheeks. Steve Harrington loved you, and you loved him too. It would take some getting used to, but you liked the sound of it. You couldn’t hold back any longer, leaning back in to reattach your lips to his.

A moan mixed in with the kiss, grumbling up from Steve’s throat. His hands shifted down past your waist, landing on your ass with a light squeeze. You laughed at the gesture, keeping your lips pressed against his, and Steve’s heart melted at the sound. But he didn’t have long to linger on the feeling, because your hips rolled against his crotch, catching him off guard. Steve’s mouth opened a bit at the feeling, eliciting a groan from deep within him. You took advantage of the opportunity and slid your tongue against Steve’s. You did the move that you always did, a roll of your tongue against his, and Steve’s fingers dug deeper into your skin.

“Fuck, is that the tongue thing that Hargrove was talking about?” Steve asked, pulling away for just a second before attaching his lips to the column of your neck.

“I don’t want to talk about Billy right now, okay?” you gasped as Steve’s teeth bit into the sensitive spot on your neck. You felt heat flush straight to your core and a whimper slipped from your lips. Steve was mesmerized, enthralled with the sweet sounds you made and the way your breaths picked up.

“Noted,” Steve spoke against your neck, sending vibrations down your spine. He worked his way back up to your lips, hand trailing under your shirt. You flinched when his hand brushed your scar, his cool fingers causing goosebumps to prickle your skin. You always had to lie to your hookups about where the scars came from, but you didn’t need to with Steve. He knew you. He had matching wounds. Steve pulled away, worried about the way you shuddered when he came into contact with the healed skin. But you just lifted your arms above your head, signaling for Steve to remove your shirt. The soft fabric slid from your skin, leaving your chest exposed. You’d foregone a bra that morning, and given the entranced look on Steve’s face at the sight of your bare breasts, you were really glad that you did. His hands gravitated towards your chest, cupping it gently. Steve’s thumbs came to rest on your nipples, brushing back and forth over them, evoking a delicious moan from your lips.

His mouth found yours again, and you couldn’t help the way your hips began to grind against his, craving friction to satisfy the heat pooling between your legs. You removed Steve’s shirt then, and instead of resuming his previous position, Steve tilted his head down, attaching his lips to one of your nipples. You couldn’t help the pleasure that coursed through your veins, grinding harder against Steve’s lap. He was hard beneath his sweatpants, and his length caught against your clit with each movement, only further riling you up. Soft moans fell from both of your lips in harmony until Steve’s mouth departed from your chest, shifting to lay you down with his body hovering over you. His lips were swollen and red, wet with his saliva as he gazed down at you. He looked at you with a hunger that he’d suppressed for far too long as his hands trailed down your stomach, slowly pulling down the sweatpants that rested on your hips. You lifted your bum, making it easier for Steve to take them off. Once your pants were discarded on the floor, Steve’s face shifted down, hovering over your clothed cunt.

“You don’t have to,” you spoke quietly, suddenly seeming shy and so drastically different from the girl who just rolled her tongue into Steve’s mouth.

“Trust me, Baby, I want to. I want to so fucking bad, have for a long time,” Steve’s eyes found yours, but he didn’t move from his spot between your thighs. His breath fanned over your skin, only adding more heat between your legs. He placed small kisses on your inner thighs and your back arched at the sensation. Steve truly had waited a long time to do this, thought about it late at night while his hand fisted his cock, so he was going to savor every second. His fingers dragged over your panties, drawing little stars over the material. You threw your head back, unable to contain yourself as a result of Steve’s teasing.

“Please Stevie, need you so bad,” you begged, breath coming out ragged and labored. Steve smirked up at you, finally hooking his fingers into the cotton material and yanking them off. He lowered himself further, breath now fanning over your exposed heat. Steve wasted no time, licking into your cunt, flexing his tongue with each flick back and forth through your wet folds. You gasped as he held down your thighs, holding them tightly around his head. His tongue was persistent, like a starved man eating for the first time in days. Steve’s hips rutted against the mattress, so turned on by the noises you made, the way you tasted, how you felt against his tongue. It got to a point where you could hardly keep still, squirming wildly beneath Steve’s steel grip, and he knew you were close.

His mouth came up to your clit, sucking it with enough force to make you whine out his name. He could come at just the sounds you made, but he held back, keeping his focus on your core and the shake that slowly began in your thighs. The coil that had been building in the pit of your stomach snapped, a wave of pleasure flooding through you. Steve lapped at your folds, capturing the last of your arousal on his tongue as you came down from your high, chest heaving and thighs quaking.

“Fuck, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Steve ran a hand through his hair, shifting up to place a kiss to your lips. You tasted yourself on him, a whimper escaping you in response. Without breaking the kiss, your hands came down, fumbling to rid Steve of his sweatpants, but he stopped you.

“I wanna return the favor, Stevie. Wanna make you feel good too,” you spoke between kisses and Steve pulled away, hastily shaking his head.

“You do that now and it’ll be all over. I’d rather come inside you, Baby,” Steve's eyes asked you for permission, wanting more than anything to be buried inside you. You understood what he meant and nodded eagerly, the idea reigniting the heat between your thighs. Steve got up quickly, pulling his pants from his legs. You repositioned yourself, now on your hands and knees, facing away from Steve. He kneeled on the bed behind you, one hand smoothing over the curve of your ass, gently finding its resting place on your waist. His lips placed a quick kiss to your spine as he took his length in his hand. He pumped himself a few times before lining up with your entrance, slowly pushing in with a wrecked moan. Your walls stretched around him, squeezing his length as he bottomed out. You couldn’t help the faint pants that fell from your lips at the feel of being so full.

“Fuck, Steve, so big,” you whined, arms weakly holding you in place. He chuckled behind you, trying to keep from blowing his load right then and there. You were so tight, your walls surrounding him perfectly. He slowly started to move, pulling his hips out gently and pushing himself back in. Steve was practically growling at the sensation of your walls clasped so close around him. As you both adjusted, Steve sped up, his hips bouncing quickly off the curve of your ass. It was hot and wet, hard and deep, the sound of skin slapping together filled the room.

“Taking me so good, Baby. Wanna hear those pretty sounds. Making ‘em just for me, right?” Steve’s breath was labored, trying hard to hold on as his fingers dug into your hips. You complied with Steve’s request, letting your stifled whimpers echo throughout the room. Steve pulled you up then, your back pressed to his front as your ass bounced off his thighs. He thrusted up into you and his hands came up to fondle your breasts. “Tell me you’re close, Baby. I can’t hold on much longer,” he muttered in your ear, ending his statement with another shaky groan. You nodded, the back of your head moving against his shoulder as you did. He quickened his pace then, using every last ounce of reserve that he had to pound into you, bodies pressing together. Your face scrunched in pleasure and Steve’s followed, both of you toeing the edge of blinding pleasure.

“Fuck, Stevie. Love you so much,” you moaned through ragged breaths, hand coming behind his head in an attempt to pull his lips to yours. The words you spoke and the crash of your lips against his had Steve coming undone. His hot streams of cum coated the inside of your walls, triggering your own high, cries of Steve’s name muffled by the taste of his swollen lips. You sunk back down onto his lap as he finally ceased his movements, resting on the back of his heels, still buried deep within you. His eyes met your soft gaze and he couldn’t help the uptick of his lips. You loved him and that’s all that mattered to him now.

The two of you cleaned yourselves up, slowly redressing to various degrees. Steve pulled on the boxers that were lost in his sweatpants while you draped your oversized shirt back over your frame. You gave up on trying to find your panties, accepting that they were now lost in the mess of Steve’s cluttered bedroom floor. You fell back into bed with Steve, rolling on your side to face him, the bed sheets draped over you. Steve’s legs brushed against yours, slowly intertwining until one of your legs rested between both of his. You caught sight of a cherry stem resting on his nightstand, one that had been tied in a knot, and held back your teasing remarks about him keeping it. Steve studied you, wanting to memorize this moment, each feature of your face. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up to the sight of your soft, pleasant smile as you watched over him in the same way he did to you. Eventually, Steve’s lids grew heavy, fluttering closed as he drifted off to sleep, you not far behind.

When you woke in the morning, you were still tangled together, radiating heat off one another to fill the otherwise cold morning air. You nestled your head into Steve’s bare chest, a soft groan slipping from him as he awoke. Neither of you wanted to get up, face the morning, and separate after a night together. The only reason you eventually did get up was because Steve had to go to work and you were sure your parents would notice your absence soon.

You went downstairs before him, waiting for him to find his car keys in the mess of his room. You shared a kiss on his doorstep, fingers tangling in Steve’s hair as he pulled your hips flush with his. A whine escaped you as he pulled away, leaning down to pluck a daisy from his mom’s well-manicured front garden. Steve tucked the daisy behind your ear, placing one last kiss to your lips before walking over to his car. He opened his car door, stopping for another glimpse of you before he left. You smiled at him, waving him off and watching as he backed out of the driveway. He blew you a kiss before putting the car in drive and pulling away. You held the kiss close to your heart, the heart that now belonged to him, and headed back across his lawn to your own house.

The smell of coffee wafted through the air as you shut the front door behind you. Your parents sat at the kitchen table, a newspaper between them and a cup of coffee each. You drifted into the kitchen, ignoring their questioning looks, and plugged the phone back into the wall. Your parents shared a silent look, a look of relief that the storm was over, that normalcy would soon resume.

You went upstairs then, entering your bedroom and pulling back the curtains that encompassed your window. You planned to leave a note for Steve stuck to the glass, the same way you used to when you were kids, one for him to find when he got back home from work. But when your eyes drifted to the window across from yours, you were met with confusion.

In place of the army of green men that once sat on the window sill was a pencil with a half sheet of white paper attached to it. A white flag. Steve surrendered, and the war was over. You smiled at the gesture before crafting your own flag to mirror the one across from you. It would be a truce then, breaking even and giving up the fight. The ache in your chest was quelled and replaced by an unfathomable warmth. There were no winners or losers anymore. There was just you and Steve, two lovers that took way too long to figure it out.

You would call Eddie and Robin later to explain the previous night’s events, but for now, you sat back on your bed, Pride and Prejudice clasped in your hands. You opened the cover, eyes landing on the bookmark between its pages, mind drifting off to the boy that picked you flowers and told you he loved you so long ago. Maybe you knew him all along. Maybe he wasn’t so different after all.

You put me on and said I was your favorite

The summer sun beat down on Steve’s tanned skin, sweat dripping from his brow, making a trail down his neck to the collar of his t-shirt. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, wishing to escape Hawkins’ summer heat. With a deep breath, Steve leaned down to grab the box at his feet, hoisting it up to hand to you. You stood in the back of a U-Haul, organizing the boxes that were handed to you. Your very sweaty boyfriend flashed you a smile before turning to go back into his house and grab more boxes.

“You guys couldn’t have picked a hotter day to move,” Eddie appeared in front of you, unruly curls stuck to his forehead and neck. You’d offered him a hair tie earlier, but he declined, now stuck suffering in the humid air. His arms were strained with the weight of the box he was carrying, clearly struggling more than Steve had been.

“Sorry, Eds. We can’t control the weather,” you took the box that he had brought out, placing it somewhere behind you in the truck. You brushed away the sweat that had formed above your lip and watched as Eddie shook his head.

“I can’t believe you guys are actually leaving,” a sad smile stretched his lips as he spoke. He knew that it would happen eventually, that you would leave behind this horror story of a town and start anew. You’d suffered more Upside Down related trauma than he had, and he knew the fears that still crept into your mind from time to time. It was a good change, even if it meant leaving the people you loved behind.

“Me too, honestly,” you looked up then, head snapping towards the sound of voices arguing in the distance. Steve and Dustin were on Steve’s front porch loudly talking back and forth about how to move Steve’s dresser from his room. Robin stood next to them, rolling her eyes and dragging Max towards your house to grab the last of your book collection. “I’m glad it's with him though,” you nodded your head towards Steve, who was still deep in his discussion with Dustin, wild hand gestures and all. Steve caught you gazing at him from the corner of his eye, shooting you a look that said ‘this kid is crazy’ before disappearing into the house, Dustin hot on his trail.

“Yeah, yeah, you guys are in love or whatever. We get it,” Mike appeared at Eddie’s side, his slim arms struggling to carry his box. You raised a brow at him, lifting the box from his arms with ease and he faced you with an unamused glare.

“I think it's sweet,” Will approached behind him, also unloading a box into your arms. He smiled at you sweetly, and suddenly it hit you how much you were going to miss all of them. The bickering and the fights, the tight hugs and reassurances that they would call to let you know they got home safe. The late nights spent overanalyzing every detail of some cheesy movie that you’d forget the plot of by the morning. And in the background of it all was Steve. His forlorn gaze as Nancy walked you down her driveway to your car. His open curtains waiting for your lights to flicker on when you got back from work. His grand gestures as he put himself in harm's way, trying to protect you. You pretended to hate each other, but now you know that you never really did.

The afternoon dragged on, the heat weighing heavy on everyone as boxes and furniture were piled into the truck. Eventually, you all finished and everything you owned was packed away. Steve grabbed a quick shower, rinsing the sweat from his body to make the long car ride more comfortable. You hugged your parents goodbye, urging them to come visit once everything was unpacked. The others still lingered, waiting to watch as you and Steve drove away. Tears filled their eyes and streamed down sweaty cheeks as you hugged each of the younger kids, promising to return for Thanksgiving.

Steve began his round of goodbyes, mainly opting for a secret handshake or a ruffling of hair. Robin squeezed you so tightly that you thought she might crack one of your ribs. She sniffled as she pulled away, moving on to give Steve the same crushing embrace. Eddie stood before you, his head tilted towards the ground. You brushed his hair back from his face, catching sight of his tear-stained cheeks. He pulled you close, arms encompassing your frame.

“You’ll call every week?” he spoke into your hair, burying his face in it to hide his swell of tears. You nodded against him, your own muffled cries slipping from your lips. He pulled back then, and Steve was right behind you.

Steve placed his hand on your back, guiding you to the front seat of the U-Haul. He said his goodbye to Eddie before joining you. Steve’s car was hooked up to the back of the truck and your parents planned to bring yours up with them when they came to visit.

You stood on the ledge of the truck admiring the sea of your friends that stood before you. They watched you with tearful eyes as you shot them one last watery smile and slid into your seat. Your gaze was pulled towards the side of your house, your bedroom window that sat across from Steve’s. It was funny to think how close he always was, even when he felt miles away. Steve’s hand brushed yours then, the tingle of skin pulling you from your thoughts.

“Ready to go, Baby?” Steve asked, reaching down to put the truck in gear. His hair was still wet, smelling of his lavender-scented shampoo. You ran your hands through it, brushing the loose strands to the side. Steve caught your hand, placing a small kiss on your palm before you could pull away.

Sixth grade Steve was right, you were leaving with your things packed into boxes and a new city calling your name. But not because you were the worm girl that was running away. It wasn’t because this town had terrorized and taunted you to the point of no return. You were leaving because you wanted to, not because you felt forced out. And sixth grade Steve was wrong about you finding the love of your life once you left too, because you’d already found him, and for that Steve couldn’t be happier.

“With you?” you questioned, eyebrows raised, hand still encompassed by Steve’s. He nodded, showing you that smile that he reserved just for you. The same one he gave you as you sat on the sidewalk with dried worms newly relocated to the surrounding grass. You mirrored his look, gazing into his hazel eyes with all the love and adoration you had acquired for him over the years. “Always.”

2K notes · View notes

sailoryooons · 9 months

Note

alright fuck it somebody's gotta ask for some fluff around here. i want in the soop vibes !!! but it's just you and yoongi settling into the place you've rented for a weekend away bc you're forcing him to take a break. you share expensive whiskey and he cooks for you and it's domestic and CUTE (and like it could get smutty if you waaaaant idk idk). ok love you you're doing amazing sweetie !!!

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: A cozy trip to the woods is exactly what you and Yoongi need to manage your stress. You especially love the moments when Yoongi gets to enjoy you right by the fireside.

❀ Word Count: 2,352

❀ Genre: Fluff, established relationship, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Teeth-rotting fluff, Yoongi and reader are really touching but in a cutesy way, recreational drinking but no one gets drunk, explicit language, explicit sexual content including nipple play, vaginal fingering, a little bit of overstimualtion, light teasing, and a lot of WAP.

❀ Published: August 1, 2023

❀ A/N: It’s cool it only took me an entire year to finish this request for the literal love of my entire life. And the best part? They’re now back to read it! Thank you for being my best friend and my light in the dark and the moon to my stars and also for picking oral or fingies even though I don’t know if you knew what you were picking them for skdjgndfigdh te quireo mas, mi vida.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Yoongi squeezes the back of your neck gently, making you look up from your book poised in your lap. Smoke from the grill catches on the wind and blows south, carrying the smell of sizzling meat. Yoongi doesn’t look at you, flipping pork belly with one hand while keeping his other hand on you.

“Will be ready in five,” he informs you, eyes inspecting the grilling vegetables on the top layer of the grill. “Better finish your chapter.”

You smile at that, pleased that he knows that you won’t want to get up from the chair you’ve drawn across the porch to sit next to him until you finish your chapter. Nodding, you dive back into your book, determined to finish before Yoongi’s done grilling.

It’s hard to concentrate, though. Dinner smells amazing, the smoky scent of meal and glazed veggies filling the porch. The weight and warmth of Yoongi’s hands as he kneads the muscles of your neck is comforting, Yoongi determined to keep his hold on you despite cooking.

Moments like this are few and far in between. Instead of reading, you take a second to soak it all in. Around your rented cabin is a stretch of evergreens and mountains, the blue sky turning liquid gold as the sun sets somewhere beyond the peak of the mountains.

Evening blankets the woods around you, urging the crickets to start up their nightly hymns and birds to flit from tree to tree as they head to their nests for the night. It’s not quite autumn yet, but there’s a chill in the air at this elevation, chased away by Yoongi’s closeness and the smoking grill.

“Come on,” he urges gently, giving you one more squeeze. “Ready.”

“I didn’t finish my chapter.”

“With all that staring into the trees, I’m not surprised. You looking for bears out there?”

“I was living in the moment. Plus, maybe a werewolf will appear.”

“Hmm. Come live in the moment with this pork before you turn into a werewolf from hunger.”

Dinner is spread out on a picnic bench table, platters of meat and vegetable skewers and steaming sides. Yoongi slides on the bench next to you, bumping your shoulder. He leans and gives you a gentle kiss on your head before turning to the food, reaching for skewers.

You flush with warmth, smiling over at him. Having him to yourself like this is wonderful. He’s warm and calm, smelling like cedar and smoke. Leaning into him a bit, you load your plate, both of you eating in silence as you watch the sky shift through layers of gold to pink and purple.

String lights on timers buzz above you, lighting the porch in warm, gold light. The air is chilly by the time you finish your meal, full and satiated. Together, you pick up what’s left and head inside, a shiver crawling up your spin from the breeze.

“I’ll start a fire,” Yoongi murmurs, smacking your ass as you head to the kitchen full of plates. You squeal and he laughs, deep and throaty.

When you’re done with the dishes, you pour two glasses of whisky. You stop just behind the couch, watching him as he stretches to spread out the corner of a blanket. There are piles of pillows surrounding him and extra blankets, a nest of his own creation in front of a warm, crackling fire.

Yoongi looks cozy. His nose is a little red from being outside and his long hair is tucked under a beanie. He’s shed the flannel he had on earlier, now in just sweatpants and a t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders. You don’t remember when he got so broad, but your stomach does a flip as you watch him, taking in all the things you’ve missed in the last few, very stressful months.

Sensing your stare, Yoongi looks up at you. His face brightens immediately, a small smile appearing on his face. “Hi.”

“You look cozy,” you tease.

“Missing the main ingredient.” He sits down and pats the space in between his legs. “Come on.”

Giddy, you hurry over to Yoongi, who takes the glasses from your hand and sets them to the side. Yoongi leans back against the rows of pillows he’s wedged up in front of the couch, legs spread for you. You sit down gently between them, your legs kicked out in front of you as you lean back into Yoongi’s warmth.

Cedar and smoke wrap around you. You can feel Yoongi’s heart beating through your back as you melt into him, sighing. He brings his arms around you, lifting one of the glasses for you to take.

“Better,” Yoongi hums, voice like velvet. “Much better.”

Leaning your head into the crook between his neck and shoulder, you tip your glass back, swigging the smoky, burning whisky. You make a content sound, drawing a laugh from Yoongi. The sound rumbles against you.

“Let’s stay here forever,” you mutter, gazing at the crackling flames. “We don’t need to go back.”

“Okay.”

“Really, just like that?”

You feel him shrug behind you. “I’m always down to do what you want. If you’re a bird, I’m a bird and all that.”

“God did you watch The Notebook with Jimin again?”

Yoongi’s laughter is louder this time. “Maybe so.”

Night stretches on and your whisky glass empties. It’s not enough to make you feel buzzed, but you feel snug in Yoongi’s arms, turning your head to press your nose against his neck. He shivers behind you and you giggle, nuzzling him further.

Yoongi nudges the glasses further away. His hands wrap around your middle and he squeezes you, turning his head so that his mouth rests against your forehead. Your skin buzzes where his lips are pressed, warm and wet as his tongue slips out and across your forehead.

“Ewww, Yoongi!”

He laughs. “What do you mean ‘ew’? You weren’t saying ew last night when my tongue was in that pussy.”

Yoongi’s words are heavy. They sink right through you to your core, a lick of arousal hot in your stomach as his hands drift from your waist to your thighs. Even through sweats, your skin heats up as his palms skate gently over the fabric, fingers squeezing as they go.

You squirm in his lap and Yoongi tuts, making you go boneless. Burying your face in his neck, you let his hands brush back up and under the hem of your shirt, jumping when his calloused fingers make contact with the softness of your stomach. A small sound escapes you, his tough featherlight and sending chills up your spine.

Every drag of his touch across your skin makes you feel hotter than the fireplace in front of you. You suck in a sharp breath as he drags his fingers on the underside of your breasts, soft-slow touch driving you mad. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your back into him as you arch a little, unable to sit entirely still.

Yoongi just laughs, the sound like honey dripping in your ears.

“Kiss me,” he says softly, nudging you with his head.

It feels like your head weighs a ton when you lift it to look up at him, your world spinning. His gaze is dark, smile lazy as he leans forward, pressing your lips to his. Yoongi’s mouth is slow and decadent, sucking at your bottom lip gently before pressing his tongue against your lips.

Years ago when you’d kissed Yoongi for the first time, you knew that no one else could kiss you like this. No one else could brush their tongue against yours, making your thighs squeeze together with just the simple melding of mouths. Now, you can’t get enough of his wet mouth on yours, leaning up into him as he hum-laughs at your eagerness.

Distracted, you barely realize that his hands are cupping your tits now until his thumbs brushing gently over your hardened nipples. You gasp into his mouth and he doesn’t let up, turning the slow kiss into something a little more demanding, a little hungrier.

Yoongi could swallow you whole and you’d let him. He could burn you up from the inside out after taking you apart piece by piece and lighting you on fire.

He pinches your nipples, pleasure rippling through you. The effect reverberates to your aching cunt, thighs pressed together to relieve the throb between your legs. Too easy for him. You know it’s easy and you used to hate it, but now, as Yoongi keeps one hand tweaking a nipple and the other slides down, you love it.

Love that he works you up like this. Loves that he knows how. Love that he can give you what you want without making you beg too much for it.

Tonight, Yoongi is indulgent. His hand is sure as it slips beneath the waistband of your sweats. You part your legs for him, placing them on the outside of his spread knees. He lets out a hum of appreciation, fingers slipping between your sticky folds.

“Good girl,” he whispers. You don’t know if he means because you’re dripping for him or because you open yourself up to him without command. Maybe it’s both. “Such a wet pussy, hmm?”

You nod, dropping your mouth from his lips to his neck, your lips messy and spit-slicked against his soft skin. Your tongue darts out, laving the tender spot beneath his ear and he moans. “Please,” you ask, kissing him there. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.”

He continues to drag his fingers up and down your pussy, careful to avoid your clit. You feel like you’re going to fall away into time and space, but it’s also not nearly enough. Your thighs squeeze, fighting the urge to shut your legs.

“You arrrre.”

“Only a little.”

Finally - finally - Yoongi applies pressure to your clit, circling it gently with the collected juices from your leaking entrance. You soften in his hold, complete putting as he draws fluttering gasps and breaths from you, pleasure blossoming from your pussy to your stomach.

Biting your lip, you squirm a little in his lap. Yoongi’s legs spread a little wider, pulling your legs apart further, the stretch in your thighs pleasure-laced pain added to the stimulation. Yoongi lets go of your chest, sliding his hand down to tug at your sweats.

“Help me out, baby.”

Lifting your ass for him, you help him pull your sweats down but not all the way off. It’s just enough to display your glistening cunt in the firelight. He doesn’t delay a second, hand coming back to use one middle finger to lazily trace patterns around your clit and the other to explore further, teasing your hole.

“Greedy,” he mumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy as he slips a finger in, making your hips buck. “Keep still.”

“It’s hard,” you shoot back as he slowly begins to fuck you with his finger, his other hand careful not to stimulate you too fast. “Feels good.”

“Better than your own fingers when I’m gone?”

“Yes.”

“Better than-”

“Not better than your cock,” you gasp as his finger brushes against your g-spot. “Stop asking stupid questions, Yoongi.”

He just laughs but concedes, setting a pace matched with both of his hands. Your eyes roll back as you sink low against him, hips sliding down further to chase his thrusting hand. He pulls you apart so easily, knowing exactly the speed and depth to press, knows exactly when to add another finger, the stretch and pressure maddening.

Flames lick at the logs in front of you, heating up your skin even more. Yoongi is relentless, pulling you toward your orgasm at an agonizing pace. After years of practice, no one knows how to lure you better than him, no one knows how to string you up on the edge of a precipice, breath stilted, body shaking.

“Come on,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. “You want it so bad.”

And you do want it. You’re a writhing mess, feet digging into the blankets beneath you, legs straining against the waistband of your sweats that are pulled to the knees, nails digging into Yoongi’s forearms. The wet sound of him working your cunt makes the room spin, your arousal loud and messy and so so so good.

“Fuck,” you growl through gritted teeth. You clench up around his fingers, leg muscles twitching, shoulders pulling in as you start to seize up. “I’m gonna-”

You can’t finish your sentence. He thrusts his fingers harder, pressing right up against your soft spot, the pressure driving you to the edge of insanity. You think you’ll break in his hands, shatter to pieces with the force building in your gut.

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, as he slips a third finger in, fucking you hard, leaning forward and bending you in half as he uses the leverage to thrust his fingers upward. “You’re fucking gonna.”

“Shit!”

Between the angle, Yoongi’s knowing hands, and the sloppy, all tongue and teeth kiss he places on your shoulders, you break. You come around his fingers hard, wet, hot and screaming his name. He keeps going, the soaked sound of his fingers fucking your hole bracketed by your cursing as you squeal and lean away from him, trying to escape the grip of your orgasm.

Yoongi doesn’t let you. He pulls every drop of it out of you until you’re seeing white, your body filled with static. He goes until you’re boneless once more, useless in his lap as you gasp raggedly for air. Sweat-slick, overheated and mindless, you lay in his lap for a second as he slowly pulls his hands back. You feel empty without them, whining.

“Hush,” he admonishes, biting your arm lightly. “I’m not done with you yet.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut #halis happy agust #yoongi fluff

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mjoffic · 4 months

Text

last minute shopping - eddie munson holiday blurb

I work retail and this popped in my head while refolding a graphic tee table and it's truly just a bunch of fluf and eddie being a cute boi

~ enjoy and happy holidays ~

word count: 1.2k

The holidays. A time focused around family, the reason for the season, cozy sweaters and hot cocoa. Twinkling lights couldn't be missed for miles as every house had some sort of big bulk convenience store decoration. No need for 'frosted windows in a can', oh no, Hawkins was seeing a very white Christmas with snow fall never ending and the chill of the wind cutting through every jacket and parka leaving no survivors behind. The joy was like an electric buzz in the air, only one thing could diminish the feeling.

The Starcourt Mall.

Eddie wasn't the best planner, never had been. Despite this year trying his best to be on top of the holidays he still had yet to get something for Uncle Wayne. With Christmas Day only two days away, it was a scramble for the perfect gift and it was absolute hell trying to get anywhere in the mall.

He could try The Gap? Nah, too pricey.

Maybe a gift certificate to Scoops Ahoy? But when would Wayne ever find the time to use it? He's always working.

Eddie sighed in frustration, running a hand through his mop of curls. He took a moment to look around the area, peeking over the heads of bustling mothers herding their kids to meet Santa, dads sitting on benches with shopping bags galore, teenagers running around the food court with their Orange Julius's sloshing all over the place. This was a nightmare. Slim pickings. Would Wayne be upset over a hand drawn card?

He was near giving up when he spotted Macy's on the far end. It was a department store, and while it seemed busy, it wasn't as congested as the inner workings of the mall. He squeezed his way through and slid through a sliver of space in between two groups of families; one included a mother scolding her husband for losing their credit card, the other group had a child crying over not getting the remote control car on the front table. Eddie pursed his lips, so glad he wasn't in that stage of life just yet.

There seemed to be never ending options for Eddie to look through, he wondered why he hadn't stopped in in the first place. It also made this decision much more difficult. He knew that he would definitely be walking out with something, no doubt, but genuinely the starting point slowly began to stump him and he felt his once eager energy depleting. A three pack of ties? When did Wayne dress up? A mug? Sure, lets add to the hundreds of them adorning the trailer wall. Maybe a fancy glass set? Even if the glasses were on sale, it was definitely out of Eddie's comfort range of spending.

"Well the sign says fifty percent off!"

A screech from an older woman pulled Eddie out of his daze and his attention turned to the scene on his right.

"Ma'am, I understand your frustration, however the sign details specifically to the gift sets. This sweater is on the table, but is signed for thirty percent off."

Eddie shifted his gaze from the woman, red in the face, almost matching her Christmas red sweater, to you. You stood behind a counter, not currently in use to ring up customers, but he noticed a stack of scarves next to you. He assumed you'd been cleaning up. You wore emerald green, very festive, and an elf hat to match. Despite your professional aura, the bell on the end of hat could almost send him into a fit of giggles every time your head even moved an inch.

"I'd be more than happy to show you-" you started, before being interrupted.

"You can show me to your manager! This is false advertising!" the women shouted, drawing a few more eyes into encounter.

"Ma'am, I'll have to ask you to keep from yelling in the store," you responded, face void of emotion. "If you would let me-"

"I'll yell if I want to! This is a free country!"

Eddie watched you take a deep breath, before picking a landline off the counter. You typed quietly while the woman continued her banter. You faked a smile to her before speaking again. "Hi, hey Ron, it's Y/n! Yeah, yeah, doing good, hey listen, would you mind sending security down to gifts? I have a disgruntled customer who refuses to listen. Awesome, thanks so much!"

The womens jaw dropped as you placed the phone back to the receiver, Eddie snickering quietly at this interaction.

"Who do you think you are!" the woman shouted, feigning a hand to her chest dramatically. "Do you know who I am?"

You smiled and shook your head, folding your hands on the counter. "No, ma'am, I don't! However I am the manager of this department and am asking you to remove yourself before security gets here."

The woman stared dumbfounded, slowly backing up from your bubble. Eddie stared in wonder at the interaction, and if he was honestly, completed turned on by your dominance.

"Merry Christmas!" you smiled, waving as the woman moved away from the scene.

Eddie noticed security at the end of the walkway and he shook his head, laughing slightly. Finding the nerve to walk up to you, he leaned softly against the counter and looked to the way in which the Grinch had left. "I think that was better than any of those movies playing in the theater right now."

You looked to him when he had approached, and smirked a bit at his words. "I try. Gotta keep some sort of sanity in this place."

"I get it, it's a madhouse in here," Eddie nodded, giving his best smile before extending his hand. "Eddie."

Your smirk simmered into a smile and you shook his hand back, nodding. "Y/n."

"Well, Y/n, I'm wondering if you might be of some use to me," he said, straightening back up.

"Oh?" you questioned, crossing your arms.

"Yeah, I mean, you are the manager of this department," Eddie said. "I'm in the works for the perfect gift."

"Ah," you nodded, stepping out from around the counter and glancing around your section. "Mom? Sibling? Girlfriend?"

Eddie stifled a laugh and he slowly followed beside you. "Uh, no mom. No siblings. And no girlfriend."

Your face erupted in pink and you stumbled over your words. "Oh, um, I'm sorry, I just assumed-"

"Hey, hey," Eddie grinned. "All good here. I'm shopping for my uncle, wanna try to find him something nice. Not much of a budget but I figured I'd find something on sale."

You felt your panic subside and sat a cool hand against your cheek, the heat subsiding. "Well, I'm sure we can find something perfect for him! Maybe something for you? Doesn't hurt to treat yourself sometimes."

Eddie pursed his lips a little bit and dug his hands in his pockets, following slightly behind you. He watched the way the bell of your hat jingled with every step you took. You arms slightly swayed when you walked, and you barely made a sound when taking a step. He began to notice the little things, and started to quietly thank the stars he'd came into the mall after all.

"I think I already have."

#stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #christmas #xmas #holidays #eddie munson blurb #blurb #managerreader #yeehaw #i thought this was cute

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raccoonhearteyes · 1 year

Text

December 18th, 2018

It has been over a month since Lexa saw Clarke. Or accidentally fucked her after falling asleep on her roof. She was just so warm. And kind. And being pulled into Clarke’s orbit is just too easy. Lexa knows that if she sees her, she won’t be strong enough to walk away. Even though it’ll be better for her. So instead of risking the temptation, Lexa has avoided any place she may run into Clarke. She refuses to go near the gallery. She avoids the whole borough where Clarke lives. She won’t even let herself get coffee somewhere if there’s a chance a flash of golden hair and baby blue eyes will send her spiraling again.

Lexa usually loves the holiday season in the city. She loves the lights and the display windows. This year, seeing happy couples kiss at the Rockefeller tree, families cozied together in the winter chill just makes her feel hollow and empty.

The Darkness preys on weakness, and skates by Lexa. Lexa’s too depressed to walk away and make him chase her. When he takes a lap the second time, he slows to a stop in front of her.

“What’s the matter Lexa, no holiday spirit this year?”

“Hard to be cheery when you spend it alone.”

“What are you talking about, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re not exactly the company I’d ever hope for.”

“Hm, still hung up on your artist, then?”

In the past twenty years, he has been cruel and relentless in trying to get her to give up her soul. He taunts and times his appearances on the days when she feels the worst. But he is still the most consistent aspect of her life, the only person or devil that remembers her. That she can carry a conversation with without worrying about being forgotten. While he’s shown up at bad times, he sometimes shows up just to check. They talk about things other than stealing her soul every so often. Sometimes he’s the outlet she needs for a more serious conversation that a stranger won’t have.

And tonight, for whatever reason, he seems less likely to convince her to give up. Maybe it’s the holiday spirit. Maybe she’s projecting. Maybe she really is just that desperate for some semblance of human connection.

“I feel like I lived an entire life with her in these past six months. I know her better than most of her friends do, but I’m not even a blip on her radar. So now I'm just killing time.”

“Until what?”

“Until I die. Until I give up and let you take my soul.”

He seems genuinely surprised at her confession, then she continues, “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

“Known what?”

“That offering a life in which you don’t age seems like something that would last longer. But no one lasts longer than a standard lifetime, do they? People barely last a full lifetime.”

“The best kind of deals are the ones where you think you’ve won,” he shrugs arrogantly.

Lexa is fuming with anger at this point. Who preys on foster kids with lofty promises and rigged deals? This is so wrong, and yet she’s still so trapped, so lonely, that he still might win.

“So, is this you waving the white flag?”

Lexa is about to say yes, to end it, and let him take her soul if it means the heartbreak stops. But suddenly, there she is. Wrapped in a knit scarf and a beanie, art supplies sprawled over a park bench as she draws the scene. Clarke. She looks beautiful, and seeing her there at this exact moment feels like a sign, and it gives Lexa the courage to tell the Darkness, “Not today.”

-----------

Like a moth to a flame, she’s drawn closer to Clarke. But she’s wary of getting too close. Close enough to bask in her warmth, but not so close that she burns her wings. It’s a delicate line to tightrope her way across. Especially in the aching loneliness of the holidays.

Clarke is drawing people, as she always does. So Lexa decides to stand near enough that she’ll inspire another piece, but not so close that she risks falling into conversation with her. That’s too risky. Too easy to fall back into her orbit. Too easy to get sucked into another devastating heartbreak.

So Lexa is content to watch from afar. To watch Clarke's eyes light up when she captures a moment on the page. To watch her smile at the little kids learning to ice skate below the massive tree. To watch the colors of the tree reflect off her blonde hair and the snow get caught in her lashes. It makes her chest swell with longing, so full it begins to ache.

It’s not her fault a family asks her to take a photo of them. To get the full tree in the frame she had to take a few steps back. It’s not her fault that happened to be in Clarke’s direction. It’s out of her control that Clarke watched the whole interaction, watched the silly faces she made to get the baby to look in the right direction.

She was trying to avoid her. To be close, but not too close, but Clarke noticed her this time. It’s not her fault.

“That was adorable,” Clarke says, gesturing at the small family happily peering at the photos Lexa had just taken.

“I couldn’t let the baby ruin the photo by looking over there,” Lexa blushes.

Clarke just smiles at her, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Lexa doesn't try to continue the conversation. She very intentionally turns her attention back to the tree and the ice skaters below, but she should have accounted for Clarke. Clarke, who has no hesitations in starting a conversation with a pretty stranger, who always talks to new people like they’re old friends.

“Can I draw you?” she asks.

“Sure.”Always. She knows she’s breaking a promise to herself, but instead of being rude or dismissive, she caves to blue eyes and a soft smile.

Clarke has her turn around to face her, lean back on the railing and prop her elbows on it. She wants to get the whole tree in the background, and Lexa tries to steady her breathing to prepare for the intimacy of sustained eye contact while Clarke draws her. Again.

They make idle chit chat while she works. Lexa keeps her answers short, just shy of curt. She doesn’t return the questions because she already knows Clarke’s answers. Instead, she focuses on the pink tongue poking out between Clarke’s teeth. The little freckle above her lip. Those eyes. Lexa blinks and Clarke is teasing her about something she said over fries. Those eyes are full of mirth and still feel like home. She blinks again and sees the same cocky twinkle looking up from between her legs.

She has to get out of here.

But Clarke’s not quite finished, and Lexa is a glutton for punishment. So she stays to model, letting Clarke's eyes trace the curve of her ass. The jut of a jawline. It’s a divine sort of torture.

But she can’t let it go any further. She can’t, she can’t, she can’t. She’s not strong enough. She’s too afraid to get caught up in a conversation. To end up tangled in bed with Clarke yet again. Her heart can’t take it.

The second she sees Clarke finish, she literally runs away. It’s not her proudest moment. Or her most well-thought-out, but she’s on survival mode now, and it is what needed to be done.

Safely on the other side of the rink, she takes one last look at Clarke, who just finished signing her name to the bottom of the piece. Lexa watches her look around in confusion. Glancing down at the piece then up, looking for the model and seeing nothing. Not recognizing the face. Not remembering the brief conversation they had while she worked. Drawing a blank. And Lexa’s heart shatters once again.

#lexa #clexa #clarke griffin #the invisible life of addie larue #clexa au

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kriswantstowrite · 9 months

Text

⚜️ Oh women!~ (Featuring a Handful of Simping Non-binaries)

• Chapter 1: As The Snakes Dance Around One Another

• Teen and Up Audiences, NB/NB, Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs) x Original Character

• Summary:

Haru has gone by their whole life acting like an edgy bad kid to survive high school, but with college life beginning, can they finally let their guard down? Alternatively, Dazai Osamu and Haru Nakamura, vengeful non-binary lesbians, swear to take revenge on the each other by sleeping with the most women anyone in their college ever has. Things escalate quickly after that.

• This work has been cross-posted on AO3 under the username KrisWantsToWrite.

[A black and white picture of a hallway leading to an exit, being lot by three lamps.]

What is horror?

Many might say it's the feeling that makes your heart pump faster. And Haru's heart was definitely beating faster, looking at the sight in front of them.

This corner of the school was always poorly lit, never-will-be-fixed broken lamps casting mysterious shadows on the benches right under them.

And someone, sitting on said benches was looking directly at them, like a snake looking back from inside a cave, deciding the best time to leap forward for a lethal sting.

Their eyes looked almost red, looked almost bloody, and that smirk…

Haru's hair was standing up, their heart like a drum, their mouth dry.

Yet they didn't feel horrified in the slightest.

Oh, no, they just felt that this sudden stranger was just really rather…

Attractive.

They both kept the eye contact, the smirk of the stranger non-fading. Was that an invitation to approach, or the weaving of a web? Before Haru could think, they were drawn to the confident aura of the stranger, like a moth drawn to the flame, an angel to a demon, a dandelion to the fire.

And so, the demon speaks first.

"You take hints very well, don't you?" says The Stranger in an intrigued tone, their left hand's long nails tapping gently on their chin one after another.

Their right hand had short nails, however, so no worries there.

That could mean two things: Either they played a stringed instrument with their left hand, or they were a sadist.

Chills went down Haru's back. And despite it, Haru answered in a clear voice: "I’m known to be quite observant~."

"A-h~ Is that so?~~ " Haru could swear that sound can qualify as a moan, and…You see, it was flattering, but not as attractive as the dominant aura.

The stranger seems to have noticed that, because they sit upright, letting their back lean on the bench with an in-control expression.

"Do you want drugs, or are you a little whore?" Haru raises a brow, matching their expression with the stranger’s.

“Is there an option for both?~" The stranger stands up, keeping the eye contact.

Haru is hesitant, unknowing if their actions could be taken back, and yet, lets a smirk burn on their lips. The thrill filling their senses, a sense of courage taking them higher, and Haru lets themselves be taken for once, for another temporary of genuine pride and as their heart pounds, they take a step back, an invite.

The stranger walks around them like a snake crawls around its prey, and it's almost a dance when Haru struts back, the movements calm and beckoning, until their back is against the cold surface of the wall. The stranger follows, the moth and the flame now replaced.

They place one arm next to Haru’s head and Haru looks in the stranger’s brown eyes, so similar to pools of wasted, melted dark chocolate. So devoid of light, tempting Haru to kiss them and see if they can sparkle for mere seconds, even if it's by a fundamentally meaningless lust.

Haru leans their head closer to the stranger’s, knowing well it's out of line, but they have reached the point of too tempting to return. So all they do is whisper: "Isn't it kind of rude? You don't even know my name~." This isn't something an edgy bad kid would ask, not something Haru should say, not in that tone. But they foolishly hope, hope that maybe college is going to be different from High School.

"Oh, but I do~."

"Huh~," Haru says as they tilt their head, closing their eyes.

But whatever they were waiting for, never arrives.

They open their eyes to the smirk of the stranger, tease glinting in the brown eyes, along with something else Haru couldn't quite place.

“What…?” Haru’s brain still foggy, they whisper. Then, they suddenly stand higher, regaining the control they had so foolishly, willingly let go of. “Too afraid to lose your virginity?”

The stranger chuckles. "I doubt that would be as fun as watching your blue-balled expression…Sorry~."

The stranger steps back.

Haru fists their hands, wishing they had a good roasting comment to respond with, but their mind can only go blank, with only dull, white rage, and the heavy gray of disappointment remaining.

“You’ll be even more sorry when I end your fucking life.”

The stranger hums, as if considering it. "That's tempting…but maybe another day." They smile. "See you later~."

“I hope fucking not.”

“Neither of us is that lucky, Nakamura san.”

#Dazai Osamu #Bungou Stray Dogs #Fan fiction #Writing #Dazai Osamu x Original Character #Dazai Osamu x OC #OC #Dazai x OC #Bsd #Bsd Dazai #bsd fanfic

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slightlycrunchy · 1 year

Text

I posted 3,278 times in 2022

216 posts created (7%)

3,062 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@crystal-mouse

@damatris

@itsrapsodia

@dsjinspring

I tagged 1,941 of my posts in 2022

Only 41% of my posts had no tags

#star trek - 523 posts

#bnha - 129 posts

#spirk - 104 posts

#star trek tos - 92 posts

#witcher - 84 posts

#q - 79 posts

#ofmd - 31 posts

#spock - 29 posts

#loz - 29 posts

#percy de rolo - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#and new yorkers wouldn’t understand the vibes of 6am down at the hyvee but we don’t talk about that cuz it’s dumb. let ppl enjoy things

My Top Posts in 2022:

i mean yeah i know that the reason i’m so drawn in by the maelstrom that is K/S is because their canon story of mutual respect and discovery of both the universe and each other and what both of those things mean to them inside the context of their relationship shows me that yes, indeed there is such a thing as soulmates and yes i know that the presence of such in the world tells me that endings don’t really mean much when you love someone so deeply and on every level able to be conceived of because in the face of such devotion what is death or the nothingness of space, what does the cold mean when you harbor such warmth in your heart

but other than that, can’t imagine why it compels me

179 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

cold mornings

Yeah, it's just fluffy dadmight 😁

Toshinori used to like cold mornings, the brisk air of autumn and winter waking him better than any caffeinated beverage could do. He recalls with fondness frosted dawns and long runs in his youth. He enjoyed pushing his body to its limits in more ways than one, Japanese winters bringing thick snows and cold temperatures, yet still Toshinori would persist.

It has been a long time now since he could say the same of his current self. No, now the cold sends him cowering indoors and under piles of blankets. His priorities have become warm mugs of tea to soothe aching joints and thick socks to keep his feet serviceable with poor circulation.

And yet, he finds himself on this bench at 6 a.m. every weekday morning, watching his boy round a patch of grass encircled by a concrete track.

“One more lap, Izuku!” he yells, hands cupped around his mouth. He has to lower the scarf he keeps wrapped up to his nose to be heard, hands encased in thick mittens as frail snowflakes fall from a clear, blue, winter sky. They accumulate like glitter on the grass, the sun shining like miniature prisms until the accumulation of them is nearly blinding Toshinori. The air is bitingly cold, but still he sits and waits, a thermos full of coffee sitting beside him in wait, too. Izuku waves tiredly, letting Toshinori know he has been heard.

Toshinori smiles.

Shivers are creeping up his spine by the time his boy is done. Izuku drags himself back to the bench with only the very last dredges of his energy, until he finally sits bonelessly at Toshinori’s side, steam wafting off of him in waves. Toshinori is proud of him for sticking to his routine even in the bitter chill and he holds out his hands in wait when Izuku is finally able to lift up his head enough to look over at him.

“Come here.”

Izuku, with limp muscles, lifts his hands up to greet Toshinori’s, and in practiced movements, the man removes two sets of gloves and grasps Izuku’s bare hands. Toshinori’s fingers are warm from the thick fabric and Izuku’s are frigid, kept warm by only exercise and the way he clenches them into fists when he runs.

Toshinori cups Izuku’s cold fingertips between his heated palms and rubs back and forth, blowing warm air onto them in turns. By the way Izuku’s shoulders slump by degrees, Toshinori knows he was right in assuming how the cold will have made old injuries ache. He understands, after all. After he is finished he gives the boy his thicker pair of mittens. Izuku does not protest; they’ve done this enough times, after all.

“Coffee?” Toshinori asks, already pouring the boy a cup from the steaming thermos, the smell of roasted beans wafting into his nose even through the scarf.

Izuku hums. Toshinori has to bite down the urge to laugh at just how little Izuku talks when he’s this tired; this is the only time the boy isn’t talking his ear off about one thing or another. Not that he minds, of course. What was it about variety being the spice of life?

Glitter falls from the sky and they both sit back against the bench, morning cold enveloping them in its embrace, and Toshinori wonders at it all.

No, Toshinori does not like the cold, but he loves his boy, and mornings spent like this make up for any discomfort he could possibly be feeling. After all, he made Izuku a promise to watch over him and raise him, and he can deal with a few low temperatures to do so.

“Thanks, All Might,” Izuku says hoarsely. His face is tilted up towards the sun, soaking in every ray of heat he can possibly find. His breathing has evened. Toshinori eyes the circle of sweat that rounds the neck of his sweatshirt, knowing they should go inside soon so Izuku doesn’t catch a chill.

He smiles. They can wait for a few more minutes.

Toshinori tilts his head up to match, closing his eyes, and together they enjoy what a cold morning can bring.

226 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

obsessed with the cosmic joke that Spock’s lifemate would be Kirk.

my mans spends his entire life trying not to be human, to keep a very prominent space between his Vulcan heritage and the lesser half of himself

only to be thrust under James T. Kirks’s manic, oftentimes mildly suicidal, gut-following command. his ancestors are laughing.

because goddammit he likes it.

280 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

I can’t live peacefully in a world where Jim and Spock don’t grow old together, into forever at each other’s sides, always getting into trouble until one of them finally admits (it’s Spock, on Jim’s disgruntled behalf) that, “Perhaps they should slow down a fraction in their later years”.

Only for their post-space-faring days to be spent torturing the next generation of Starfleet that can’t parse a Vulcan’s dry sense of humor and therefore they think Spock hates them all, until Jim comes in to play ‘good cop’ and pats him on the shoulder as they then speak about the glory days to anyone that will listen.

They’ll be old professors and Spock will enjoy every moment he can sit still and sink into his research while Jim terrorizes whatever starbase they’re on with his younger-than-his-years antics.

They will fall asleep in each other’s arms and always make sure to catch at least one meal a day together no matter how busy they get.

They do not separate. This does not end. And fairytales can happen, for two lovers, brothers, friends.

447 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I’m being so normal about the idea of Spock learning to physically care for humans through his relationship with Jim. So normal about him diving into his memories for how his mother used to give him creature comforts that he slowly learned to bat away as his more Vulcan traits were desired and how he comes to a new appreciation for the small things like a touch to the arm or a mug of tea of an evening.

No matter that the temperature controls are always set where they should be, Jim likes a blanket over his shoulders as they sit and play chess or chat and Spock takes care of this. It doesn’t matter that Jim’s clothes are always neat and pristine, before they enter the bridge he would always check himself over, dusting off his shoulders in habit; Spock does this now, with a nod to answer Jim’s appreciative smile.

I’m so normal about Spock learning to appreciate the small courtesies and going out of his way for someone else, an illogical thing to do, really. Jim is a grown man who can take care of himself.

All the same, Spock does it. And he finds it isn’t so illogical after all when Jim looks at him like that.

600 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #the fact that 4/5 of my top posts were done in November says some beautiful things about the trek fandom. y’all are so welcoming and cool.#honestly that’s a lot of original posts? Damn #I’m not sure the blogs i reblogged most is accurate but hey—oh well

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 1 year

Note

“Children are so easy to forget.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that quite clear, Shaw, but we’ve gotta find this particular child before she does any more damage.”

As if to emphasize his point, there was a drawn-out scream, followed by an explosion from somewhere across the park.

“Relax, Allerdyce. Not so difficult to locate the little brat, is it?” Sebastian pointed in the direction of the sound, and Pyro could see faint wisps of smoke billowing up from beyond the souvenir stands and waterslides. Even without the smoke, Pyro could feel fire prickling at his senses, but he couldn’t grasp hold of it without getting closer.

A crowd of panicked tourists came rushing from the direction of the smoke. Sebastian strode directly into the mob, and they parted around him like a school of fish darting around a great white. Pyro followed in his wake, close enough to not get knocked over in the stampede.

Before long, the flames were visible, engulfing a building that a quickly burning sign labelled “The Snack Shack.”

“Fucking hell,” Pyro muttered.

“What’s wrong, Allerdyce? You’re a terrorist, you thrive on random chaos and destruction.”

Pyro had quite a few things to say about how it wasn’t just random chaos, it had been carefully targeted and planned, because they had a message to send as Mystique had so often reminded them. But, more importantly –

“Not when it’s my bloody mess to clean up, I don’t!” And it did look like a literally bloody mess, judging by the mangled figure groaning in front of the building.

A few feet away, a pink-colored child who looked vaguely reptilian, and vaguely like a porcupine, was sitting on a bench, contentedly eating a funnel cake.

Pyro waved a hand, and the fire immediately sputtered out. The child’s head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed.

“I’m not going back,” she said.

“Yes, you are,” Sebastian responded. “By force, if necessary. Although I’d prefer not to ruin this suit.”

“You should go a size up, Big Man,” the child taunted. “Or your pants will split.” Something odd happened to her voice in the second sentence, an echo that bounced around in Pyro’s brain. But he was quickly distracted by the ripping sound next to him, as the overworked seams in Sebastian’s trousers gave way. Thank God the man was wearing underwear. If only it covered more.

“You little shit!” Sebastian roared.

“Thanks for the laugh, kid, but you know we can’t just leave you here,” Pyro said, walking up to her. The mutant called Curse scowled up at him, powdered-sugar on her cheeks.

“I just wanted to have some fun.”

“You call that fun? What’d he do to deserve that?” Pyro pointed at the groaning man lying in front of the destroyed Snack Shack. His uniform appeared to be melted into him, and Pyro could see huge red blisters across his back.

“He wouldn’t give me a funnel cake.” Curse grabbed an empty soda can from the bench next to her, and tossed it at the wounded man. He screamed as it bounced off his back, and Curse let out an ugly laugh.

“Enough, kid!” Pyro snapped, grabbing the funnel cake out of her hands and holding it above her head. “The guy isn’t dead yet, so we won’t call this a murder, but we’ve got take you back to Krakoa. You can eat the funnel cake on the boat.”

“What the hell, Pyro, I thought you were cool! I thought you were down with the cause!”

“I thought you two were gonna adjust your methods and chill out a little!” He was starting to regret the admittedly rash decision to give Curse and Nature Girl a ride off Krakoa. He thought they were good kids with a good cause, saving the sea turtles and all that, just a little over-enthusiastic. Doug had told them to fight smarter. Even Pyro himself had given them a little talking to during the ride to the mainland. He remembered what it was like to be angry, and to let that anger turn into violence. He thought the kids had listened.

But they’d only gotten worse, so much worse, and now Pyro was tasked with retrieving them.

“I told you on the boat, didn’t I? You’re not gonna get anywhere just killing people at random. All those years in the Brotherhood, and we never really made things better for mutants. The only time I actually made a difference was when I saved a life instead of taking one. You really think hurting that guy over a funnel cake is gonna help the environment?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember your little speech,” Curse said, glaring up at him, arms folded. “If you feel guilty about burning a bunch of people, that’s your problem. Nature Girl and I are saving the planet, we’re not gonna stop just because you regret what you did. Now gimme back my funnel cake!”

She lunged for it. Pyro held it up above his head.

“Not a chance, kid, you’ll get it back when you surrender.”

“You regret what you did.” Curse’s voice went funny again, echoing through Pyro’s mind even louder then before.

You regret what you did.

There was another sound, too, the sound of screams, rising above the crackling of flame, screams that were getting shriller, more desperate and agonized. Pyro could smell smoke, and the stench of burning hair and flesh. Burning humans smelled so much like pork.

Pyro was vaguely aware that Curse was pulling his arm down, and taking the funnel cake. He didn’t care anymore.

“Sorry, dude, I had to get my funnel cake back,” Curse said. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so lame.”

“I’m sorry,” Pyro muttered, not to Curse, but to the phantoms that coalesced out of the smoke still drifting from the ruins of the Snack Shack. Most of them were vague and faceless, but there were two he recognized quite clearly – a young Iraqi woman who was a mutant like him, and an elderly scientist. It had been so easy to kill them. He hadn’t even hesitated. For the woman, he’d been downright gleeful about it. “I’m sorry.”

Pyro realized he was walking towards the groaning burn victim, still sprawled on the ground. Just a concession stands worker doing a shit job for shit pay, and Curse had scarred him for life, possible killed him. Why? Because he hadn’t let her steal merchandise? Maybe he’d been rude and surly to the strange pink child who’d appeared out of a crowd of yelling kids and impatient parents, and maybe now his life was ruined forever for it.

Pyro dropped to his knees, his vision blurring. How many had there been? Police officers and soldiers, it had been easy to convince himself that they deserved what they got, but there had been civilians, too. Just unlucky bastards in the wrong place at the wrong time while Pyro was throwing his fire around, reveling in the sheer joy of watching things burn.

He could see them. The charred corpses of the ones he’d killed, the mutilated survivors with scars that would never heal, they were all writhing around in the flames and screaming -

A hand came down heavy on Pyro’s shoulder, and he startled. Then, for a moment, he thought he’d fallen into Hell, because Sebastian Shaw was standing above him, stripped down to his boxer shorts, with an unconscious Curse slung over his shoulder, and his jacket folded over one arm.

“For God’s sake, Allerdyce, get ahold of yourself.” Sebastian shook him slightly, and Pyro realized that there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What? How did you….why are you naked?”

“Naked is an exaggeration. I stripped the pants off because they were ruined. I took off the rest of it because wearing a shirt, waist-coat and jacket with no pants looks ridiculous. Out in public, at least. And I took care of the child while you were having a a breakdown, or whatever this was. I don’t actually care.”

Sebastian dumped Curse into Pyro’s lap. “You carry her, since I did all the work. We should leave the scene before the authorities arrive.”

“What about…..” Pyro gestured at the worker.

“Emergency services will no doubt give him all the aid that can be given. It’s not our concern. We’re just here for the girl. Please tell me you’re not becoming a bleeding heart like Ms. Dastoor, Allerdyce, it’ll make you even more unbearable.”

Pyro didn’t answer, just climbed shakily to his feet with Curse limp in his arms, a bruise rapidly forming over one of her eyes. Sebastian’s take-down had apparently been quick and effective. The smoke phantoms had faded and he could no longer hear the screams. He thought he should be angry at her, but the familiar warmth of anger was gone, and in it’s place was just….nothing. He felt hollow.

Sebastian was already walking away, and Pyro hurried to follow, trying not to look at the child in his arms.

It would be very easy for Pyro to sidetrack a little, to walk into the wave pool with Curse in his arms, and stay there until she stopped breathing. Maybe it would be for the best. She was a monster.

But then again, so was he.

So instead Pyro just carried her back to the boat.

(OOC: Damn, this got dark, didn’t it? The Iraqi woman Pyro sees in the smoke is Veil, mutant member of Desert Sword, and the scientist is the man that Freedom Force was supposed to rescue. Pyro killed both of them, the scientist to keep him from falling into enemy hands, and Veil because she was an enemy. It was not Pyro's finest hour.

After losing his pants, Sebastian just hung back to let Pyro handle Curse, planning to approach and take her down while she was distracted doing something horrible to Pyro. Instead, Curse was completely overwhelmed with laughter at the sight of Sebastian in his boxers, and he was able to punch her out with no problem.)

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silvanils · 2 years

Text

The Roots and the Leaves

This fic can also be found on Ao3 here!

Early in the morning, Kieran slips out of his quarters wearing commoner’s clothes and a worn cloak to hide his nice satchel. He wants nothing more than to sneak out through the servant’s quarters and be gone before anyone can even miss him, with the little note he left on his bed explaining his intentions.

‘I just don’t want to be stuck in the Palace today. I hope you understand.’

But just before he left the royal wing, he hears a door creak open.

“Kieran? Is that you?” Alistair asks, his voice hoarse. “What’s going on?”

Kieran turns to face him, grimacing at just how tired the King actually looks. Had he even been asleep? Belatedly, Kieran realizes how this must look to Alistair. “I’m not running away, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, sighing as he grips the edge of his cloak. “I just… don’t want to stay here today. It’s too stuffy. No offense.”

Alistair huffs quietly, his lips turning up in amusement. “Understandable. It’s… quite a change, isn’t it? Being stuck here, when you’re used to wandering about wherever you please?” He shifts a little, leaning against the door’s frame as he studies Kieran. “As long as you promise to be back by nightfall, I won’t stop you from leaving.”

“Thank you,” Kieran says, giving the King a quick bow before he darts off.

As the sunlight began to turn golden in the late afternoon, and the other children dispersed to go eat dinner, Kieran and Minna wandered over to the Vhenadahl, where Zevran sat in the shade strumming a playful melody on his guitar… and something tickled at Kieran’s mind, some bit of of old knowledge he could no longer quite recall.

The roots of a tree are very different from the leaves, but they both still belong to it.

He frowns as he looks up at it, but when Zevran begins to play another verse it pulls Kieran back to where he stands, who he stands beside.

“I know this song!” Kieran says, grinning.

Zevran chuckles and sings the next line as he strums the notes. “Why change the past when you can own the day?” His fingers stumble over one of the notes, though, and he laughs. “I’ve been trying to pick this one up. Dirk is rather fond of it.”

“I like it, too,” Kieran says, leaning against the bench. “I used to go listen to Maryden sing in the Herald’s Rest all the time. Her voice was… nice. Soothing.” And one of the songs had sounded a lot like one his Papae used to sing to him, though the words had always felt off to Kieran in a way he couldn’t explain.

But as Zevran begins the verse again, Minna reaches out for Kieran’s hands and tugs him into a playful dance… and for now, at least, he decides to go with the flow. It’s rare enough for it to sweep him up like this.

She walks with him later, too, as he begins to make his way back to the Palace, his cloak drawn tight against the swift-descending chill of evening. “I hope you had fun today, Kieran,” she says, in a quiet tone. “Still boggles my mind that you’d choose to spend it with us instead of… I don’t know, having some kind of party at the palace?”

Kieran snorts. “Who would I invite to such a party?” he asks, grinning at her. “You’re my truest friend in the whole damn city. Besides, I prefer playing hoop on a stick and sparring with you over being stuck in some stuffy room with a bunch of noble brats any day, nevermind... a special one.”

Minna laughs at that, and it’s almost too dark to see but Kieran’s sure she’s blushing. “I’m just sorry I don’t have a proper gift for you just yet.”

“A gift?” Kieran asks, shocked. “Minna, I don’t need anything…!”

“I know,” Minna says, reaching out to take his hands again, and he’s surprised by how warm hers are. “But I want to give you something, anyway. You’re my truest friend, too.”

“Right,” he says, his voice barely a squeak. “As you wish, then. But only if — ”

He’s cut off when she tugs him closer and stands on her tip-toes to plant a kiss against his cheek. Her lips are soft and warm, too, and… his face is probably as rosy as her hair, now.

“Hush, you,” she whispers. “You know I meant it.”

#artober #kieran #kieran and alistair #kieran and minna #zevran #;Kieran/Minna #;knight writes #;corner of the sky #[ this one gave me a hard time LOL ]#[ I was originally going to make it more clear that it's Kieran's birthday but that gets addressed in the NEXT chapter ]

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landinoandco · 3 years

Text

|Shutter speed|

Chapter one : A staring contest with an attractive stranger

{Lando Norris x Reader}

Summary: A photographer. A pair of F1 drivers. Triangles. A sticky situation of morals and fighting fate. What could go wrong?

Warnings: None :)

Rating: Teen and up

Word count: 1.5k

A/n: hey guys, welcome to Shutter Speed!! A love triangle between LN DR and reader (in this story reader is called Georgie.) This is my first f1 fanfiction so any feedback/suggestions are very welcome or if you just want to add comments, reactions - anything goes!! Thank you for reading and enjoy :)

Chapter one: A staring contest with an attractive stranger ...

It was raining in London. Not that that was out of the ordinary - even in the beginning days of July. Today the weather had decided to imitate that of mid-March, the rain crashing down like the heavens had opened up above and the wind cheekily chasing tourists and commuters indoors then proceeding to race eagerly through the streets, nipping at any ankles of those who were lagging behind the rest.

Lando Norris was out with his trainer when the rain started, enjoying the freedom of a 2 week break before the highly anticipated British Grand Prix. They rushed down the alleyway they had found themselves on; until they came across a little coffee shop tucked away in the corner - 'The Little London Stop.' Jon nodded to confirm to Lando that this would be just fine - as he opened the door, a small bell rang just above his head and instantly they were hit by a comforting warmth and the smell of freshly made coffee.

He quickly slid onto one of the benches, facing out onto the shop. It was typically London, designed with someone's Instagram feed in mind, plants hung precariously from the rafters along with many singular light bulbs that casted at atmospheric glow around the room.

Opposite him, on the other side of the room sat the only other person in the shop, she sat with her back to them. Her messy mousy brown hair tumbled in waves down her back, her gaze on the rain rushing down the alleyway - her chin resting on the heel of her hand.

Georgie had been sitting in that exact spot for longer than she would care to admit. Escaping the pestering grasp of her best friend and roommate Maisie; they were both photographers - partners in an online business they set up when they first left college as they prepared to take on the world. Pre-covid it had flourished and the pair had been travelling up and down the country, from events like weddings to festivals. Post-covid however - this was where their problems had started and why Georgie was currently hiding in a coffee shop. Work had become as dry as her love life, events had been cancelled for another year and wedding guest numbers had been limited. For weeks they had been sending their portfolios to any event organiser they could find and for weeks they kept being turned away.

She tore her eyes from the flooding streets and back to her open laptop - she was completely stuck, where to even start? Georgie nibbled on the on her bottom lip and sighed before rubbing her hands over her face - she was really looking for a miracle to happen.

Lando was completely intrigued by the girl. It wasn't until Jon snapped his fingers in front of Lando's face that he realised he had been staring.

"Right, sorry." Lando mumbled, a red flush creeping up his neck and he moved his gaze to the wooden table, wringing his fingers together. "What were you saying?"

Jon chuckled at his young boy antics and shook his head, "I wasn't, you were staring and it was weird. I picked you up this green smoothie - lots of vitamins and-" But Lando had switched off again, he couldn't help himself as his eyes locked back onto where they had been before. It was like something was drawing him to her - hell, he didn't even know what she looked like.

"Are you going to go and speak to her?" Jon's voice broke his trance yet again.

"Wha-what?" Lando looked up at his trainer, his innocent eyes widening at the thought. "I-I-"

Jon scoffed and rolled his eyes, "You are such a teenager."

"I'm not a teenager." Lando hit back, "I'm 21. I can drink in the US now, you know."

"Then start acting like it." Jon scolded but the corners of his mouth quirked up, he had known Lando for years and he had not changed once. A hopeless romantic at heart but acted like a deer caught in the headlights as soon as anyone of the opposite gender even glanced his way. Any girl would be lucky to have him but unfortunately for Lando he always found himself drawn to the type that would take his heart whole and would leave, shattering it into millions of pieces for Jon to find and piece back together again. It was through no fault of the girls in question, they would make their intentions very clear but Lando - being who he was - would always jump head first without looking ahead or the consequences of his actions.

On the plus side, Lando came back stronger each time but it left him with an even stronger longing for that care and affection that everyone around him seemed to have.

His heart raced as he looked over at Jon, a determined look was set on his face. "Fine. I'll do it." He stood up, legs wobbling slightly as the adrenaline flooded through his veins - he had cleared the table when reality decided to walk through the door. He turned on his heels and sat back down. "Nope. Maybe another day." His voice wavered slightly.

Jon looked at him with sympathy and slight second hand embarrassment - not that Lando needed to know that.

Georgie looked over her shoulder at the commotion happening behind her - there were two young men sitting across the room from her. One was clearly older than the other and was looking at him in utter bemusement - she followed his gaze...

Georgie inhaled sharply, she was met by a pair of crystal blue eyes - of which lit up when he realised that she had looked over. Georgie simply didn't know what to do with herself as she seemed to be stuck in a staring contest with an incredibly attractive stranger. She managed to tear her eyes away to look at him properly; a mop of dark brown curls sat dripping onto the table (still wet from the torrential downpour), an olive complexion and an innocent sparkle in his crystal blue eyes. She offered him a shy smile, a rose tinge coating her cheeks. He gave her a lopsided grin in response.

There was an overwhelming feeling that drew Georgie to this stranger, it wasnt anything she had experienced before - not even when she had been with him.

A cold chilling suddenly rushed down her spine, almost like she had been standing in the rain falling outside. A pang of guilt filled her stomach, she dropped her gaze and bit her lip. How could she ever think of him like that, compare him to a stranger she didnt even know the name of.

A ring broke her train of thought, her phone lit up with Maisie's name. She inhaled slowly to ground her feelings before answering, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"Hey Maise -"

"I've done it." She heard Maisie shout down the phone, followed by a relieved laugh.

"Done what, sorry." Georgie prompted, rubbing her eyes. She could feel the boys' eyes on her, resisting the urge to turn around; she closed the lid of her laptop and placed it in her bag.

"I've only gone and gotten us an event to go to this weekend." Maisie replied as casually as she could muster. Georgie paused. A large grin that would challenge the Cheshire cats'.

"Where and how?" Georgie felt a weight lift from her shoulders, it didn't matter what Maisie had signed them up for, it was a start. A fresh start.

"Look, I have a call with them any minute so I'll have to explain when you get back. It's at the Goodwood festival of speed." Maisie paused.

"Goodwood Festival of speed." Georgie echoed - she could hear ringing in the background.

"Got to go, final things to sort out. I'll see you later." With that she hung up, leaving a delighted Georgie frozen in place, until she found her senses and packed up as fast as she could. All thoughts of the boy across the room - gone.

He sat, puzzled, as he watched her rush out the door and into the rain - calling out a muffled 'thank you' as the door swung shut behind her. His brows drew together as he looked into his lap, before saying quietly to Jon: "It was the Goodwood Festival of Speed she just said, didn't she?"

"Yes." Jon answered shortly, looking down at him in fascination.

"Isn't that where I am this weekend?" Lando looked up, hope swelled in his chest.

"Yes, it is."

Lando looked longingly out of the window, beaming. He knew it was silly to get so hopeful - there were going to be thousands upon thousands swarming around Goodwood. He stood up and turned to Jon - "Lets go."

"But you haven't drank your smoothie -"

Lando was already at the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jon grabbed the smoothie and tittered, following after him.

You only live once, Lando thought. As it turns out he would get another chance this Saturday and this time he wasn't blowing it.

Chapter two: A new beginning

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gojology · 3 years

Text

Jealousy. (1/3)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | im a sucker for jealous teenage gojo and thats all u have to know

𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Teen! Gojo Satoru x Gender Neutral Reader

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 1236

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | Light Cursing. ALL CHARACTERS HERE ARE AGED DOWN FROM PRESENT ANIME/MANGA INTO WHEN THEY WERE TEENAGERS.

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Gojo hates whenever you spend time with Geto. Unfortunately, you do that more than half the time. He can’t put a finger on it, but he has a feeling of dread whenever he sees Geto with you, and silently wishes it’s him. Shoko tries helping. Gojo’s eyes glared at you and Geto, he was grateful his eyes were concealed behind his dark shades. A beautiful warm orangey-yellow coated you two both, Gojo noted how golden hour suited you so well, but for once paid no mind to Geto. Both of you were sweating incredibly hard, but didn’t seem to mind the sticky skin and the clothing.

You were profusely giggling, and every time you caught your breath, Geto would tickle you again and you’d burst into a fit of giggles, and the cycle would repeat.

Your cans of Pepsi sat untouched, not even the caps were opened. Grumbling, Gojo took another swig out of his second energy drink. Still looking at the both of you through his glasses. He sat down on a bench, hunched over. Even though he hated the very sight of you hanging out and being so friendly with each other, he didn’t want to leave.

Was it fear of Geto kissing you without Gojo’s vision cast upon you two?

“Stalking (Y/N) and Geto again?” a familiar serious voice grumbled, Gojo’s head swung around before he realized Shoko was sitting down on the bench next to him. She crossed her leg, Shoko’s shoulder length hair ruffled a bit in the weak breeze as she shifted her gaze towards him.

Gojo blinked, cursing himself for being so obvious in his stalking endeavors. It would be too useless to even argue, trying to tell Shoko that he wasn’t even looking at them, and rather very interested at a random bench that just so happened to be next to the pair was comparable to just straight up admitting that you had a crush on (Y/N).

“This is my first time even lookin at the two, fuck are you talking about, saying again?” Gojo placed a hand on his chest, leaning backwards a little. Grinning a little while taking another generous swig of his energy drink. “Free entertainment, I’d rather look at them then some fucking birds flying by.”

“Mmm. Yeah okay.” Shoko nodded sarcastically, and then burst into a fit of giggles.

“What?”

“Holy shit, Satoru.” Shoko was now holding her stomach. Wiping the corners of her eyes. It had been a while since he had seen Shoko laugh like that, she was always doom and gloom all the time. Gojo couldn’t quite put a finger on why she was laughing, though.

“I’m not that stupid, Satoru.” laughing again, opening her drink loudly, then taking a short sip of her canned coffee. I’m pretty sure I see you looking at (Y/N) more then I see you gloating to some dumb schoolgirls in public.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“You get defensive when you’re lying.” Shoko stuck her pinky out, her eyes bore into his. Gulping down the rest of her drink. She crushed it with a singular hand, examining the wrinkles and folds in the now compressed and beyond repair tin.

“I do not! You’re accusing me of some weird ass shit, you know.” Gojo spat out, an unfamiliar feeling bubbling inside of him. He had never felt this before. Playing with the hem of his pocket a little, he reached for his emergency candy that he always had in his back pocket, he hated awkward situations like this. He stared down at Shoko, heart beating quickly for some unbeknownst reason.

He played a little with the wrapper in his pocket, while Shoko leaned her back on the bench, looking at the sky. She crossed her arms, setting the crushed can on the splintered wood bench, blowing on a stray hair on her face. “Whatever, Satoru.” she grinned, replying a little later. She stood up, casually throwing the can into the nearby trashcan. She shoved her hands into her pockets, walking down the gravel path.

As her figure grew farther and farther into the distance, Gojo sighed, realizing that he had completely forgotten about you and Geto.

He turned his head over his shoulder, this time not as obviously. You and Geto were still giggling with each other, like a stupid couple. Your Pepsi cans still sat untouched, water dripping down the both of them. It was like the two of you forgot Gojo or Shoko were ever there.

He spat at the ground, guzzling down the remaining energy drink. Crushing the can, just like Shoko had done but with way more aggression, Gojo angrily threw it into the trashcan, grinding his teeth. ‧₊˚✩彡. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” You screamed, arms up in the air, hair blowing in the wind. Geto was chasing after you around the grass field, Gojo’s legs splayed out, entranced by the two of you running around in circles. “I’M GONNA FUCKING GET YOU, (Y/N)!” Geto grabbed at the air, running at you. You squealed loudly, running even faster. Gojo mindlessly took a bite out of a sandwich, spitting out a tomato. He was sitting on a picnic blanket under the shade of an incredibly large tree, enjoying the cool against his sweaty, hot skin. Yet, not once considering taking his glasses off even though the sun wasn’t even in his way. He was wearing a more casual t-shirt and a pair of shorts, compared to his usual Jujutsu Tech uniform. He enjoyed the casual wear, and felt like a normal teen for once, doing normal teen things. “Gross.” Shoko tilted her head, her legs also splayed out. She was also looking at you and Geto running around, yelping turned into giggling as Geto finally tagged you. “The tomato or the lovebirds?” “Both.” Gojo snickered, looking down. The familiar, negative feeling expanded inside of him again. It always occurred when he saw you and Geto having fun. “Mmmm.” Shoko looked down on the picnic blanket, it had been custom decorated by the group. It was a group celebration after the crew had defeated all of the curses in a certain small village. Gojo had drawn an incredibly large stick figure, with his iconic pair of black circular sunglasses and his hair. A tiny person stood next to him, with a smiley face. A heart between the two. He had also drawn multiple penises, and a pair of incredibly circular breasts, but that was besides the point. Shoko speculated that Gojo probably had a crush on (Y/N). If he didn’t, Shoko figured he just wanted (Y/N) in his bed, one or another. It didn’t take a lot to figure Gojo out. Shoko wondered how stupid (Y/N) could be, not noticing Gojo’s crush when he obliviously stared at them like an absolute buffoon. On the other side, Geto and (Y/N) decided to collaborate together, Geto had drawn (Y/N), and (Y/N) had drawn Geto. Both of them were hideous. “Ugly, right?” Gojo scoffed, looking down at the drawings. Silently wishing that he was in Geto’s place. “How’d you know I was staring at the drawings?” Shoko shot back, a triumphant, cocky smirk on her face. Gojo whistled, leaning on the tree trunk. His head resting on his hands, which he had propped up to rest his head against. “Strong people just know these things.” Gojo furiously dug into the ice box, yanking out a chilled, sugary pink lemonade. He held it to his forehead and sighed in relief. Shoko turned over, now looking at Gojo’s ear. She narrowed her eyes. “Satoru, have you ever considered that you have a crush on (Y/N)?”

#teenage gojo satoru #gojo satoru #jjk gojo satoru #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #gojou #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk geto suguru #geto suguru #jjk shoko ieiri #shoko ieiri #ALL CHARACTERS ARE TEENAGERS IN SECOND YEAR

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fanfictiondreamscape · 3 years

Text

Alternate Endings (Pt. 2)

Title: Alternate Endings (Pt. 2)

Genre: more angst, possibly more than the last part. this is your warning.

Pairing: Victor Nikiforov x GN!Reader

Notes: This is a part 2 to the previous part, and I still used the angst prompt list from the aforementioned previous parts to form this piece.

With that said, I think that this will be the only part following the first unless I can find some way to continue the storyline. I intend to keep the ending somewhat depressing and sad, so I guess proceed with caution due to such.

If you want something similar to this for any other character, please let me know, though! I may also mention that this went from a drabble, to a scenario, and now borders on an imagine - I can’t help that I got caught up!

Part 1

Below the cut!

You practically fell off the face of the Earth as soon as you left.

Harboring all of the money you saved and deciding upon negotiations to make with your employer, you left Russia. You left Japan. You just...left.

Travelling became a huge part of your life afterwards, and though many people had tried to regain contact with you, you ignored most of them - save for a few. Only Yuri Plisetsky and Yuuko Nishigori were available to your whims, but they were still advised to stay as quiet as possible regarding your whereabouts.

You changed your whole appearance, changed your mindset, and even changed something as generally miniscule as your wardrobe. Still, as much as you did change and throw away, you couldn’t rid yourself of the many frivolous gifts that Victor had given you over the years.

Some things you just can’t give up, but you knew that it would be fine. At the very least, you had something that would never let you forget about him.

Victor, on the other hand, fell off the deep end.

He had come across the note you’d slipped under his hotel room door and for the first time in a long time, he cried. A true mess was what Yuuri had come across, and as many times that he was able to help him through unconventional methods, this was nearly impossible.

Victor didn’t leave Japan, but he did become so reclusive that even Yakov was extremely worried upon finding out about the occurrence from an offhand comment that Yurio made when talking to Yuuko over the phone before practice.

Everyone around him saw the typically extravagant man become so dulled by misery that it became painful to watch.

He didn’t even know where to start since he’d already tried to find you - looking everywhere that he knew you loved, everywhere that he knew you were often obligated to be at - but had failed to do so.

It wasn’t until, when Yurio was free, that he overheard him and Yuuko talking at the front desk of the rink as Yuuri was warming up and he was getting his skates on.

“Yeah, they’re in America right now. They just got a raise, actually - they were even thinking of dropping in when they get enough saved up,” Yuuko recollected, excitement dripping from her tone.

“Well, they’d have to come by when Victor isn’t here. That would also mean that I’d be gone, but at least you could update me,” Yurio responded. He seemed more nonchalant about the whole thing, but Victor became hysterical.

Granted, he did suppress what he could to eavesdrop further.

“Of course! I am still a little worried about them, though - you remember how Victor had gone crazy trying to find them?” Yurio grunted in response. “Well, what if he decides to do something impulsive again and leave mid-competition?”

The light-blonde teenager in front of Yuuko flinched at the thought. “That’s a good point...but we’ll never know unless it happens when it does.”

A solemn chill fell upon the two, but the conversation split onto Yurio’s next routine and Victor left it to them. He stared wide-eyed, in pure disbelief, at the wall of lockers in front of him.

“So they’re...(Y/n)’s in America....”

Ideas began to run through his head as the room became eerily quiet. Even Yuuri, who was sat in the corner and preferred a calm and quiet atmosphere, was perturbed by the sudden shift.

“I know what I’ll do! Yuuri, skate if you want - I’m going to be out for a while,” Victor announced, generally resembling the flamboyant figure skating icon that everyone knew.

He took his skates off and capped the blades, putting them into his bag and reaching for his cell phone and scrolling through listings. Katsuki was left dumbstruck, but he went on about what he was doing and decided to run through his routine a few times.

Yurio had left by this point, and Yuuko was too far in the back to catch the tall man’s outburst.

It wasn’t until the next day that he was extremely prepared and anyone who understood his issue was suspicious. Victor had hunted for every listing to America from Japan, and memorized the closest ones. Yuuko was the one person who was going to be there that he had to ask.

“Yuuko, I must ask you something! Would you mind?” was Victor’s burning introduction, shocking the normally upbeat mother. She was a little taken aback at the bold attention grabber.

“Mmm, yeah?” She tried to be as ‘typical’ as possible, considering that her suspicions were up now. She knew what was going on, she knew what Victor was burning for.

“You said that you’ve been in contact with (Y/n), yes?”

Yuuko deadpanned, eyes blank and dropping the facade that she was going to attempt to maintain. “I knew it. Listen, I know that you’ve been troubled since they left, and that they have been as well, but please - give them some more time.”

Victor visibly deflated. He didn’t think it would work, really, but it was worth a shot. Maybe, just maybe, though.... “How about a hint? Is it hot? Cold? What is a landmark?”

“No, Victor. Sorry.”

And he was back to his dejected being by the next hour.

Victor was willing to annoy both her and Yurio, but gave up once they stood their ground with firm hold. “No. (Y/n) is fine, and they will come when they want.” It was always the answer, no matter who he asked.

Daily, Yuuri would keep him company and skate to the best of his ability. It seemed to quench his troubles just a little bit before the up and coming competition season.

Eventually, the Grand Prix rolled around again. Yurio was competing, as well as Yuuri, and Victor was there to maintain support for his ever-promising prodigy.

Amongst the drama that had ensued, the two of them decided to take a break romantically and focus on the practice rather than devote too much issue to their worryingly stagnant relationship.

It wasn’t until Yurio had pulled Yuuri aside when Victor was getting changed that he was let in on soem information that, had Victor heard, would send him into a frenzy.

“(Y/n) wanted to me wish you good luck and let you know that they are here to watch. If you wanna talk, they’ll be waiting in the lobby.”

Yuuri almost faltered and told Victor, but decided against it. Your wishes were still high up, even if you two weren’t amazingly close.

Sadly, Victor was still shaken and hurried. It was a large competition, and as much as he wanted to focus on the task at hand, you never left his mind.

Over the year that you had fallen out of reach, he began to realize where he screwed up. Maybe he did like you at one time, but he let his own fears get the best of him and he fell to putting more of an interest to Yuuri.

He truly loves Yuuri, but he truly loved you (romantically) at one point, and you slipped from his reach before he could manage to comprehend anything.

So, upon making eye contact with a familiar pair of (e/c) eyes and an eerie copy of a blazer that he had given you as a birthday gift years ago, he was left idle.

“(Y/n)?”

You sucked in a breath and shrugged, sighing afterwards and shaking your head. “Yep, it’s me. Hello, again, Victor.”

Tears flooded his eyes as he ran to you, arms open and tight as his hug enveloped your frame. You didn’t reciprocate, not immediately at least. With obvious hesitance, you returned the hug, but pushed him away only a couple seconds later.

“You’ve got a skater to support. We can talk later, okay?”

“But, you’ve come back and-”

“Victor. Go support Yuuri.”

He bit his lip, but nodded nonetheless and embarked to the rink.

After the free skate, the next day’s events were prepared and everyone was sent out for the day. Yurio had caught up with you before heading to his hotel room, and Yuuri had popped in before he changed out of his costume, but Victor was most eager to meet you.

Upon seeing each other, yet again, in the lobby, the two of you parted ways but decided to meet at a restaurant in town. Yuuri would be dining with Phichit and some other competitors, and Yurio was with Otabek going sightseeing, so this was a prime opportunity.

Silence loomed over the two of you, slow walking and sounds of nature overwhelming your senses.

“So, you’re probably curious as to where I’ve been,” you began, breaking the tension as calmly as possible. You could have sworn that your heart was going to burst out of your chest if you let the quiet settle any longer.

“Yes, (Y/n). I really have been.” Victor, for once in the time that you have known him, was quiet. He was never really afraid to speak to you about anything, but the way he was acting now let some of the more obvious pain show.

“I’ve also been extremely worried. I never realized that you felt like that.”

You stopped upon the sentence, eyeing a nearby bench. Victor followed suit and looked down at you, eye contact being maintained. His gorgeous blue eyes were glassy and he appeared on the verge of tears.

“(Y/n), darling, I never realized how much you actually meant to me. I was stupid. I- I really, truly did love you. I always thought that you were too good for me, though, so I tried to make the ideas disappear. It worked, but only for a while. I love you, (Y/n). Honestly, I really do, and...

“I don’t know how much longer I can endure this.”

Your brows furrowed at his proclamation. The thought had never really crossed your mind, but you had always been drawn to his personality and how driven he was. You knew that he would do this, though, as he could also be notably daft regarding certain things.

“Victor, I-.... Listen, I loved you at one point, but you found Yuuri. You found your match. You made your decision. Out of respect for you and him, I left. But I also did it to respect myself.

“I know my habits. I know that I can fixate, so I needed to get out of your hair if I wanted to feel better. So I did. I’m engaged now, Victor, and the person that I met is amazing. I thought that could have been you. But it wasn’t, and I’m okay with that now.”

“You- you’re engaged?”

“Yes, yes I am. We haven’t planned our wedding date quite yet, but it is being discussed. The fact of the matter is simple: I knew what would happen if I were to stay, and as much as I love you, - platonically - staying here wouldn’t do me any good. Life comes, things change, and sometimes we just gotta give up.”

Silence fell on you two yet again, but it was interrupted by the slight sniffling coming from the tall Russian.

“Victor, I came back not because I wanted to fight for your affection, but because I’ve been worried about you. I just want you to know that...I still do care for you, and I have still supported you and Yuuri. But what you want, what I wanted...that’s not possible anymore.”

Pausing, you thought over your next words. Nothing was ever going to completely repair what was broken, but at the very least, you could try.

“How about this? Here’s my new number,” you handed him a small slip of paper with the nine digits printed on it in your handwriting. “Let’s start talking again, and you can meet my fiancee sometime. Sound good?”

His mood nearly took a 180, but his demeanor was still sullen and sad. A weak smile crossed his face, and he responded in kind, “Of course. How about we go back to the group and enjoy dinner, though? You’re here again, and it’s more than I could ask for - but we have a lot of catching up to do.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Looking for a Place to Happen 7

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, drunkenness, some content not warned.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: This is it for Sam and it will give me a chance to start plotting Frank and Peter’s storylines but no promises on when those will be touched. I’m still sorting through ideas.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 7: It’s a shame to leave this masterpiece

💀💀💀

As you came up to The Asp, you felt better than you had in days. The blend of alcohol in your stomach blurred the old brick buildings of the small town and buffed out the peeling paint of the image of the ancient Queen. The girls giggled behind you in a similar state, ready to celebrate the occasion.

You were the first inside as you stumbled past the man smoking at the doors. He was clothed in leather like any of the others within. You hit the table with your hip as you came into the barroom and kicked it as it wobbled.

“Sup, bitches?” you announced your presence as the other girls entered behind you and laughed raucously at the introduction.

Your eyes met Sam’s as you looked around. He sat with those other men, Bucky tilted his head in disbelief at you and Steve stood as his girl came up to lean on your arm and slur, “let’s put some good music on!”

“Yeah!” the rest of you chimed in unison, “and more drinks!”

“Drinks, drinks, drinks, drinks,” Bucky’s girl and the mechanic chanted as the crossed to the bar and you staggered with the third to the old jukebox.

“Jesus, you got anything made in the last three decades?” you chirped as you heard the scrape of chairs and a low mutter.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bucky demanded and you glanced over as you hit a button. The disco beat rose as the bartender with the dyed hair poured a line of shots, “you are all drunk.”

“No, we’re ready for a good time!” you sang as you bopped to the beat and Steve’s girl began to wiggle oddly. You supposed that was dancing, power to her.

“You,” Bucky turned on you, “this is your fault--”

“It’s a special night,” Sam stepped up, “they’re having fun.”

“They’re making a scene,” Bucky growled.

“There’s hardy anyone here, or anyone sober enough to care,” Sam rolled his eyes as he smirked at you. You stuck out your tongue and brushed by Bucky as the shot glasses stood ready.

“Some for them,” you jabbed your thumb over your shoulder, “buncha tight asses!”

You lifted a dark brown shot and tried not to spill it as you neared Bucky. He was still scary in your tipsy delight but you didn’t care enough to back off.

“Do it,” you leaned towards him, “chill out, bruh.”

Sam snorted as Steve steadied his girl and spoke quietly as she ignored him and mouthed the words to the Donna Summers song. He was failing to hold her attention as her eyes rounded at the drink in your hand then flitted to the bar as another four were added to the row.

“Really,” the slender dark-haired man leaned an elbow on the bar as he peered down his nose at the mechanic, “this is unseemly.”

“Double for him,” you cried out and grabbed Bucky’s hand to wrap around the shot glass, “consider it an apology from me, boss.”

You patted his shoulder and turned away to near the prim man with his stuffy accent.

“Do you prefer a pint? What do they drink in tight-ass-opia?” you snickered and his brows arched. The mechanic slid a shot towards him and nudged you away with her arm.

“Drink,” she challenged him as she took her own, “you bitch.”

Your mouth fell open at her blatant defiance and Loki’s green eyes flickered as he lifted his chin. The song changed but it was another upbeat melody you recognized. The tall man took the shot from the mechanic and drank it smoothly before carefully setting the glass back down.

“This is a birthday party,” you said, “where’s the cake?”

“Yeah, why didn’t I get a cake?” Steve’s girl shoved him, “that’s bullshit.”

“Sweetie,” he warned and she sidled past him to claim a shot.

“It’s my birthdayyyyy,” she drawled, “I’m doing what I want--” she paused to choke down the shot and turned on him again, “and you’re not my daddy so I’m gonna have fun. You’re welcome to join or fuck off.”

There was a silence as you all stared at the usually soft-spoken woman. She pointed to her empty glass and the bartender.

“Alright, that’s enough--” Bucky began.

“Hey,” a woman with reddish blonde hair stepped up in a leather jacket, “pour me a shot.”

“Wanda,” he warned.

“Jeez, Buck,” she reached forward to take the newly poured liquor, “they’re right. This place is usually dead. What’s one night?”

“Yeah, one night,” Bucky’s girl intoned, “take the shot, take the shot, take the shot…” She neared him and pushed her finger against the bottom of the shot glass, “just do it.”

He sighed and rolled his shoulders. He knocked it back sharply and cleared his throat.

“You guys are cleaning up the mess,” he muttered.

“You’re gonna help us make it,” she threw her arms up as the jukebox got louder and you looked over as Steve’s girl held her finger down on a button, “hey, I love this song!”

💀

The night never quite slowed down so you couldn’t say it took a sharp turn. The bar was a frenzy of music and alcohol. You could tell by the pulsing ring in your vision you would feel it the next morning, even if you didn’t remember any of it.

You were enshrined in the glow of your own intoxication as the bar cleared for a moment. There were bodies all over, talking, moving, dancing. You blinked past Sam who was all too eager to join in, an excuse to have his hands all over you. You leaned on him as a ‘whoo’ stabbed your eardrums.

You blinked as Bucky’s girl came clearer. She was on the pool table, writhing around a cue like a stripper. The man who called himself her keeper reached for her ankle and she kicked him away as Wanda cheered her on.

You giggled and looked over at the cushioned bench against the wall behind the table. You were shocked and yet not as the mechanic had her tongue halfway down the baker’s throat. The two girls were locked together in the din of the room.

Loki sat on the other side of the table but his head lolled back and his long legs were splayed before him. He was likely passed out. Another figure approached and you tried to move past Sam as he clung to you and turned with to look over at the scene.

Steve grabbed the mechanic’s arm and tugged on her but she kept her other hooked around his girl. She yanked away from him and he did it again.

“Get off her,” he snarled.

“Fuck off, dude,” she parted for one second to utter the deterrent before she started at it again, drawn back hungrily by the other woman.

“Let em do it,” Sam called out, “that’s hot as fuck.”

You hushed him and Steve seized the mechanic again. This time he was met by a fist as she came up swinging, leaving his girl against the bench. She caught him in the chest and then the jaw and swiftly looped her arm around his neck as she bent him over. He jabbed at her side and she grunted drunkenly and stomped his foot.

“Hey!” you rushed forward and Sam’s hand fell away as your holler drew the attention of everyone else.

“Eh!” Bucky’s girl hopped down and drunkenly landed with the cue in hand. She pulled it back but was kept from swinging as Bucky followed her towards the scuffle.

You hopped on Steve’s back as the mechanic kept her arm around his neck and his girl came up with senseless eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” she grumbled, “we were having fun.” She reached out and pulled his hair so he winced, “you’re always on me! Always controlling me!”

“Get off!” Steve grunted as he clawed at the arm around his neck and you tried to pull him off-balance from behind.

A sudden, deafening noise stilled everyone. Steve’s girl slumped back as the cue clattered from the other woman’s grasp and the mechanic released the man in leather as you slid off his back. Sam caught your arm and stilled you as Bucky stood with his gun in hand.

“Enough,” he was drunk himself but mad enough to rage through the alcohol, “enough. Fun is over.”

You all stared at him as he holstered his gun and huffed. The music continued to blare and he stomped over to the jukebox and shut it off.

“Get them out of here!” he barked as he spun back, “you,” he pointed at his girl, “back office. Now.”

Loki was the only one undisturbed as he remained blacked out on the chair. Steve gritted his jaw and snatched up his girl who could barely stand on her own feet. She pouted as he swiped up her coat and shoved it into her arms. He got a curled lip from the mechanic but she let him go.

Sam chuckled under his breath and shook his head as he took your hand, “better pack up… tomorrow’ll be fun.”

You found your coat on the floor and pulled it on as you peeked around Sam. He swayed slightly himself as he leaned a hand on the bar. The mechanic kicked Loki’s chair but he didn’t flinch. She shrugged and left him there, tramping out without looking back.

Your eyes met Bucky’s as he stopped at the door on the far side of the bar. His eyes met yours as he scowled and you quickly glanced away. You grasped Sam’s arm and hid your fear.

“Let’s go,” you whispered.

You knew you were in shit again but you were fairly certain, that would never change. You sealed your fate when you walked in that bar the first time.

💀

You woke up to the harsh glare of sunlight. You shielded your face and groaned as you wriggled under the thick arm across your side. Sam hardly moved as you rolled over and sat up with a wince. There were glimmers of the night before but more pressingly, your stomach boiled and bubbled.

You slid out of bed, eyes half-closed as you made your way to the bathroom. You still had your crop top on and nothing else. You knew he fucked you again but had no recollection of it, nothing but the dullness deep in your core. You flipped open the toilet and leaned on the seat. You heaved until the bile splashed down into the bowl.

You finished spewing out your drunken regrets and rinsed your mouth in the sink. You’d never drank that much before and for the first time, you were feeling it beyond the sunrise. You dragged your feet back into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of pajama pants.

Sam remained face down on the bed, his thick back moving slightly as he breathed rhythmically into the pillow. You sat on the end of the mattress and rubbed your cheeks. You vaguely remembered an argument and dancing. You knew it didn’t end well.

You were jarred by a knock at your door and moaned at the nail in your skull. You stood as your nan’s voice rose from the other side.

“Girly, you get out here right now,” she hammered on the wood, “you have company.”

You went to the door and opened it just a crack. She leaned her hand on the it and grimaced.

“I know he’s in there, no use hiding,” she snarled, “both of you, downstairs.” She didn’t hang around for your confusion or arguments. She sniffed as she descended the stairs and muttered, “need another smoke.”

You shut the door and turned around as Sam grunted and his lashes fluttered in grogginess. You took his shirt from the floor and flung it at him.

“What’s up?” he asked sleepily as he caught it and turned his legs over the side of the bed. He was completely naked.

“Someone’s here,” you shrugged as you pulled on a hoodie, “she didn’t say.”

“Mmm,” he rose and fished his jeans from the floor.

He buttoned them and followed you to the door. You held onto the railing tight as you made your way down and you peeked into the kitchen curiously as your nan’s cigarette smoke tickled your nose. Your chest knotted as you saw Bucky sitting at the table, his own face lined with tension as he drank from a mug.

“There they are,” you nan frowned, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Millie,” Bucky raised the hot mug and leaned it against his forehead, “you understand this is… private business.”

“Yeah, yeah, I gotta find that damn cat anyhow,” she retorted harshly, “you make it quick. This is still my house.”

He cleared his throat and waited for her to go. She sucked on her cigarette as she passed you and tutted. She pulled on her jacket and boots and tramped out without another word, the door slamming behind her.

“Sit,” Bucky said.

Sam nudged you and you neared the table and dropped into a chair. Sam went to the counter and poured himself a coffee from the machine. Bucky stared at you as his jaw gritted and he set down his cup.

“It’s clear to me that after last night, Sam has not made things plain to you,” he sent Sam a pointed look as the other man sat, “or maybe you just choose not to understand.”

“What did I do?” you croaked as you longed for a mug of the brew.

“I keep this town in order. Not the club; me.” He ignored your question, “and I am not in the habit of putting up with this type of bullshit.”

“It was just fun--”

“Enough,” he hit the table, “if my lady didn’t like you so much, I would be done with this. Done with you. But out of respect to her and Sam, I will give you one last warning. You get in line or I put you down. You and the old bitch.”

Your skin crawled as you glanced over at Sam. He was sombre and silent, the usual humour completely gone from his face. He nodded at you and then pushed his shoulders back in defeat.

“She’ll behave,” Sam said.

“It’s not just her head if she doesn’t,” Bucky stood, “I like you Sam but you vouched for her. You knew what that meant.”

“She will,” Sam rose as well.

“I’ll see you at The Asp in ten,” Bucky said, “we have business. Real business,” he let out a long breath and looked at you, “just know, the rest of them will be punished too. Just remember, that’s your fault.”

He left without another word and you lowered your chin. You liked the other girls, they were older but they were nice, and it was easy enough to see they were just like you. Trapped and tortured by these men. You were never very good at reading people or a room, but you knew that. You felt it so you saw it in them.

“Well, gotta go,” Sam said, “I’ll be back. We’ll go over everything.”

“Fine,” you replied like a bratty child, “I didn’t… do anything.”

“You won’t do anything,” he girded firmly, “you’re fun but not that fun.”

He retreated upstairs and you got up to pour yourself the last of the pot. You heard the front door and you turned as your nan entered with Pippen slung over her shoulder. She crinkled her nose as she crossed to the counter and leaned beside you.

“That man’s a right ass,” she said, “reminds me of a few back in my day.”

“Mhmm,” you sipped and avoided her gaze guiltily.

“Girly, I know, it’s not your fault. Those men, they always take it too far,” she kept her voice low.

“No, I went down there, I started all this--”

“Whatever you did, it doesn’t warrant this,” she touched your arm, “and those other girls, they didn’t do anything worse than you.”

“Nan, you can’t--”

“All I want you to do is play along,” she said as her jaw clenched, “and tell those girls, they need anything, they come here; a meal, an ear, a place to sleep… and you tell them I dealt with these men before. They don’t change over the years.”

“Nan?” your mouth fell open and you scoffed in disbelief.

“One day,” she raised a finger, “there’ll be a change and those men don’t know what they got comin’. A woman’s best weapon is patience.”

You eyed your nan as she pet Pippin and went to the fridge to pull out the open can of tuna and feed him a shred. He took it from her fingers as she set it on the counter and he hopped off to eat directly from the tin.

“Don’t look so stupid,” she lifted a brow and paused to look up as you heard Sam above, “you got some smartenin’ up to do. A lot.”

END

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debbierhea · 3 years

Text

and the world around us shatters / better call saul / wc: 2392 / kimmy jimmy omaha cinnabon reunion / special thanks to @kimberly-wexler for the beta <3

Summary:

She’d been searching. For years.

She’d been searching. For years. Hired a PI and then another. Scoured every database she had credentialed access to and then a few she didn’t. Even adopted a cat to soothe the loneliness, lull the throbbing emptiness she felt in her chest. She’d had one as a girl once, a stray really, whom she loved. But this cat was as sulky and capricious as she had become and no matter how committed she was to ignoring it, the ulterior motive of pet adoption was glaring, if not to anyone else, to her.

After three months of No. Not like this. You can’t. Leave it alone. Don’t get involved, the ill-tempered tabby was Kim’s foot in the door. It was a Thursday when she sat across from his veterinarian, cat on the exam table, and said, “I need your help.”

“What kind of help are we talking?” He eyed her, stroked the tabby between her ears.

“I’m looking for someone.” Silence followed.

“You’re gonna have to give me a little more than that.”

“You know him. Jimmy McGill.”

His eyebrows rose. More silence.

“Well, can you help me or not?”

“You know it’s not always a matter of can I help.”

Kim tilted her chin, raised her eyes to meet his, unflinching. “Does that mean you won’t help me?”

“Hm?” The cat was purring into his hand, licking his thumb. “Oh, no. Just that my price may be something you’re unwilling to pay.”

She swallowed. “That’s not possible.”

“Okay then,” he nodded, stuck out his hand. She shook it.

Now, she was wandering through a sea of midwesterners in puffy coats and mittens, dusting snow off their shoulders, chattering about the weather. She hasn’t been back to this part of the country in years and it oddly feels like a homecoming, though she stopped considering Nebraska home the moment she left. It was simply a place she had lived, never one that offered family or comfort or love. There were sparse memories of joy with the odd classmate and a fond recollection of the first grade teacher who encouraged her to read, helped her get her very own library card. But now as then, there never existed a sense of ease or belonging for her. Even so, the familiarity of the Casey’s General Store on the corner, the Runzas on menus across state rest stops, the flurries of snow reddening her nose and chilling her bones, fostered a small flame of hope deep inside. She could still recognize, even find comfort in, a place she so detested. After the passage of so many years, this place was still the same and, underneath the new high rises and parking meters and sushi restaurants, she could see the bones of this city. Maybe the same could hold true for other things in her life.

Looking over the map in the lobby, she cupped her hands before her mouth and blew into them. The chill rested deep inside her, the hope she fostered in her heart doing little to warm her weary bones. All her work was to lead to this: trudging up the tiled stairs in damp snow boots surrounded by people who knew nothing about pain, not really. Not pain like hers.

She smelled it before she saw it, curving with the second floor walkway past storefront after storefront of clothes and books and knick knacks. She had just side-stepped the man trying to give free lotion samples when the warmth of cinnamon and sugar wafted over her. Her footsteps stuttered and her gait slowed. It was like watching a car whose engine was stalling out. She was light-headed, unable to string a thought together, parse out what she was feeling in her body besides a deep urge to run. Her therapist would tell her that she wanted to run because of her fear of being vulnerable and then being left behind. Again. Kim pushed hair that had fallen loose of her ponytail behind her ear, took three deep breaths, and followed her nose.

A small line stood in front of the cash register, three or four people, waiting for a treat to get them through their holiday shopping. She contemplated her next step from across the food court. Anticipation fluttered through her, givinggave rise to goosebumps beneath her layers of knit and down. Then further, deeper, beneath the adrenaline, lived something twisting and gnawing inside of her chest. She knew this thing like she knew the location of every security camera at the Hinky Dinky or the route she took home after school when her mom got too lost in the liquor aisle to remember to pick her up. This thing she knew was fear—fear of hope, of the inevitable ache of a further bruised heart. She crossed the food court despite it.

Trying to slip back into her midwestern skin, move through this world unassuming and deferential, she stood to the right of the registers, observing the ebb and flow of workers behind the glass. Dough was being kneaded by one, another opened an oven to check the progress of the bake. A third manned the register. A second till was sat unused, cash drawer open and empty. She stood there, just outside the current of customers, twitching her chapped fingers, tapping them against the inside of her own palm. He used to tease her for it. Five minutes passed, then ten. The line grew longer. Her flame of hope was waning.

Then, a voice—a bellow, more like—broke through the low hum of conversation in the food court.

“Coming! I’m coming, Miranda!” Kim froze.

A man in an apron and mustache came through the door marked “Employees Only” and made his way to the front of the store, a full cash drawer in his hands.

“Sorry! For some reason the safe just wouldn’t open.”

Kim was drifting through the crowd, pulled toward his voice. Her eyes began to burn.

“Here are some quarters for you. I figured you might be running low.” His eyes flicked up, scanning the crowd, estimating how many rolls they should throw into the oven. “I’ll open this one up and—,” his roaming gaze stopped. “And I, uh....”

She swallowed, her throat tight, eyes glassy. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He stood, slack jawed, staring.

“Um, Miranda I—Just, uh, just take this,” he handed the cash drawer to the teenager standing next to him, eyes never leaving Kim’s. “I’ll be right back.”

His shoes squeaked as he made his way around the counter and out into the seating area of the restaurant. Kim hadn’t moved, stunned like a deer in headlights on a Nebraska back road. He seemed as though he was moving in slow motion, each step towards her an eternity, and yet it was still not long enough to prepare herself for him to be standing directly in front of her. She felt like she’d just fallen through the ice into a glacial lake. No, she hadn’t fallen. She’d jumped. On purpose. And broke through.

He stood there, inches from her; she could see the gray in his mustache. He paused, just for a moment, then said, “Follow me.”

And she did.

They weaved in and out of tables and shoppers and janitors picking up fast food wrappers off the floor. He glanced back at her once, as if he was scared she wouldn’t be there behind him, as if she hadn’t been following him, chasing him, for what felt like her whole life. He led them down a hallway, empty save for a woman waiting on a bench between two bathroom doors, one labeled with a dress, the other a tie. Kim gave her a close-mouthed smile.

Jimmy stopped abruptly, reaching for the door to the family restroom. He held it open, looked into her eyes. Kim gave the woman another glance, cheeks reddening, and walked through the door before she could think or feel or do anything that would make her stop herself. She moved towards the far, tiled wall and as she turned, heard the clicking of the door’s latch, then the lock.

He paused then, there, gripping the door handle, his head resting against its grain. His body was tense, coiled and bound and, she realized, foreign to her. Stooped shoulders, billowing polo, slight waist cinched by an apron. Even from behind, he looked bleary, posture like a drooping flower on the sill. What happened to him?

Kim was grateful for this pause he was granting her. Everything seemed to be moving at a pace she was incapable of matching, an emotional marathon she had not trained for; she never did have much emotional stamina outside of simply holding them all in, like a child holding their breath in the deep end of the pool.

Then, he turned.

He was just as unfamiliar from the front as he was from behind, cheeks a bit sallow and stippled with five o’clock shadow, wiry glasses. His nametag read “Gene.” But Jimmy McGill was still the same in his bones and in the time it takes to exhale that breath you’ve been holding under the gentle waves of your childhood pool, the split second it takes for that breath to form a spray of bubbles racing you to the surface, they were in each other’s arms.

Centered on the yellowing, speckled tile, they grasped at shoulders and elbows, knees knocked, tears fell. Finally, Kim slipped her arms around his ribs and clutched him to her chest, nails digging into cotton and, beneath, soft skin. His face caught between shoulder and neck, he inhaled the scent of her, goosebumps rising as her puffy, down sleeves brushed against his bare arms. His hands roamed her back, skidding and sliding across slick fabric. It felt as if his hands had been frozen and he had finally found the fire he’s sought to warm them. Sneaking his right hand up and up and under the thick wool of her scarf, he hesitated just a moment before placing his fingertips to the soft skin of her neck. She gasped, a sob drawn out on a breath. His left hand pushed into the small of her back. She pulled him in tighter.

They held each other there, flushed and desperate and weepy, for a time—how long, neither could say. As the hand rubbing her back would slow, she would squeeze his middle gently as if to say Not yet and he would answer with gentle pressure between her shoulder blades. When her grip on him would loosen, his fingers would drift into the hairs at the base of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer, and she would let him. This is how they stayed, questioning and answering each other as only they could with little more than a sigh passing through their lips.

Then, Kim began to pull gently away. He stiffened the moment he sensed her movement from him, but she did not try to leave his embrace, this wasn’t her intention, not truly. She only wanted to see his dear face, maybe say hello. Placing one hand on his chest, she leaned ever so slightly back as his arms moved to circle her waist. Tears clung to his lashes and dripped from the tip of his nose. He swallowed hard as her eyes roamed his face, different but somehow entirely the same. She felt like she was back in the HHM parking garage bumming a smoke from the new guy in the mailroom. Hundreds of days and miles from then, he was still hers.

Bringing both hands up, cupping his jaw, brushing his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs, she smiled. “Jimmy.”

At this, his eyes closed, Kim holding him tenderly in her palms. He hasn’t heard that name in years. When was the last time he thought of himself as anyone other than Saul Goodman? Saul the criminal defense attorney. Saul on the run. Saul posing as a Cinnabon manager. More tears fell free.

Removing his hands from her waist, he held her delicate wrists, one in each hand, his thumbs mimicking her caress across his skin. She gave the slightest tilt of her head and he answered with a reed-thin voice, a sad smile, “It’s you.”

She knitted her perfectly arched brows, that tell-tale wrinkle emerging between them, her eyes soft and wet, red-rimmed. She bit her lip and began to shake her head, never removing her gaze from his. After a moment, she smiled again, smaller this time, lips closed, and slipped one hand smoothly into his, the other onto his shoulder, not willing to break contact.

“Sorry it took me so long.”

More tears welled in Jimmy’s eyes as he rolled them to the ceiling, heart aching.

“Kim…I…”

“I know.” A pause. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Baby, I know.”

From shoulder back to his neck, Kim guided Jimmy with her hand, resting his forehead against her own, meeting in the middle, holding him there.

“Oh god—” a sob broke from deep in his chest.

Kim stroked his neck, shoulder, face, back. Jimmy wept.

Tears darkened the collar of his polo shirt and the tremors running through his body prompted Kim to wrap herself around him once more, burying her nose in his neck, focusing on the sickly-sweet scent of yeasted dough rising, cinnamon, and icing sugar over the pain so fierce living in the main between her arms.

As all things do with time, his sobs became weaker and fewer, until his breathing returned to a shallow, exhausted inhale, sniffly exhale. Kim lifted him from her shoulder and he raised his eyes towards hers. Her lips twitched, and then she brought them to his cheek. One, then the other, over and over, like salve to a wound she covered his drying tear tracks with her lips. Gentle and soft, like the flap of a butterfly’s wings did she kiss him. And then, she centered herself, hand threading into his hair, she moved to his lips.

“Kim,” he whispered, a breath from her lips.

“Yes?”

“What if you’ve come all this way to find someone who…doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

Again, Kim knit her brows and shook her head. She placed her right hand over his heart, lifted her shoulders gently in a shrug.

“It’s you.”

#better call saul #bcs #mcwexler #my fic

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aki-simp · 3 years

Text

Helping hand.

((A/N: Havent written in a while so I feel a bit rusty. This fic was part of a server collab that can be found here! ))

Tags; Megumi x Male!Reader, blackmail, voyeurism, is this dark content? Also nsfw bc Megumi diddles himself hehe

Im sure I dont need to but just incase : Minors go away

Are there words to express the feelings upon watching the one you love moan the name of your classmate as they touch themselves? Surely there must, for whatever you’re feeling is… gut wrenching? Intriguing? Disgusting? Not so much the latter, you conceded as you watched him. Truly, it was anything but.

You took note of the small shivers that wracked his lithe form, the furrow in his brow. The short heady huffs of air he released whenever he squeezed the base of his cock and the whine that accompanied it. In all his naked glory and whatever thoughts of Itadori plagued his mind, he still had yet to notice you.

As usual. Megumi was a perceptive boy, but you felt it failed where it mattered. Every careful word, every sure action done to get his attention. Unintentionally thwarted by Itadori. You don’t blame him, Itadori is a sweet guy. But you can't say that Megumi’s blind eye to your affinity towards him doesn’t sting. As the thoughts of all the times you looked to Megumi only to find his eyes on Itadori swell to a heavy weight in your chest, you hear him groan.

In the time your mind wandered (and you’re confused as to how, because Megumi is breathtaking) you see he has now made himself more…. Comfortable. The bench where he once sat he now lays on, his chest resting along the seat with his ass in the air, one hand slowly inching his long finger into his hole as the other continued its languid strokes along his cock.

You watched his finger slowly disappear inside himself as the desperation dripping from his needy moans fills the small room, the sounds rousing your cock to an almost unfathomable degree. The light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead, the bright tint to his lips from being bitten to hold back moans topped with the small coat of saliva dripping from his mouth is almost too much. Truly a sight to behold, an eternal image you wished to have ingrained into your mind. It was amazing watching how effortlessly his fingers slid into himself, as if he’d done something like this many times before. And with his sudden cry upon hitting a certain spot, you can tell he has.

Your hand travels to the front of your pants in an effort to quell the unbearable tightness, palming yourself you can feel your watery precum leaking through your boxers. Slowly pulling your cock out, you bite back a stinging hiss as the chilling air touches your head. As your eyes travel back to Megumi’s quivering form, you pump your hand in time with his fingers, imagining the feeling of his warm hole clenching around you. A heady breath is held in your chest, the air in the room reaching a stifling degree.

Over the slick wet sounds of Megumi’s fingers in his hole and his wanton moans, it’s no wonder he couldn’t hear your soft pants just beyond the door. Lost in his own world that you very much wished to be the center of, the pang of jealousy returns to your chest once more when he moans a name once again that is not yours. Watching him with a seething envy of simply wishing he would notice you, wanting to be the one who he dreamed of, the one he pined for. The grip on your cock speeding up at the thought of marching up to him, prying his legs open and making him realize that Itadori is simply who he wants but you are what he needs.

A gasp catches in your throat at the sinister idea that flies through your psyche. With the shaky hand not wrapped around your cock, you slowly reach into your pocket. It pains you to tear your gaze away from Megumi’s flushed and tear filled face, but you’d be able to see it again soon enough. You’ve had it for years, but the phone in your hand somehow feels different now. Be it due to the impending orgasm from watching Megumi in his most vulnerable and debauched state or the fact that your thumb hovered over the camera button with its lens angled right at Megumi’s perky ass, the device felt sacred.

Taking a deep, focusing breath, you quickly check to make sure the flash is off before finally pressing ‘Record’. Swallowing, you zoom in on Megumi’s blissed expression just in time to see his eyes roll back, tongue lolling out from between his bitten red lips. The sultry moan of Itadori’s name makes you curl your upper lip, an urticate reminder that despite the show Megumi has unknowingly put on for you that it is not you who he touches himself to the thought of.

As you watched the flush on his cheeks grow in colour, you could feel the blood rush to your cock, causing it to throb painfully. You kneel, feeling the cold floor in contrast to the rising heat of your body at seeing Megumi not only in front of you moaning without a care in the world but knowing it would be on your phone to view again and again; whenever and however you wish sent a feeling akin to euphoria rushing through your blood. It was almost too cruel, knowing how awful the boy would feel if he knew, but you love Megumi too much to hurt him, you think. Keeping the video to yourself for a while wouldn't hurt anyone, and you definitely weren't complaining.

Your attention is drawn away from the screen view of Megumi to the real deal as he changes his position. This one hides his face, but the new angle ensures you a perfect view of his ass and the flushed leaking cock below it. Whether it was this new display of Megumi’s vulnerable state or the blood leaving your brain to make your cock throb, it seemed the wet squelches of his fingers desperately in search of something deep within his wet hole. Megumi must have thought the same thing as a string of stuttered curses leave his lips before being consumed by a heady groan. Even without seeing his face, you can tell he's drooling, you can imagine it coating his lips.

A knot in your stomach threatens to burst as Megumi’s breathy pants grow. If it hadn't been for the fact that you knew he would never do something like this, you would almost believe he knew he was being watched. The arch of his back, the rock of his hips onto his nimble fingers and the hand furiously stroking his cock was enough to make a masterpiece. Megumi was beautiful, and you would show him.

The hand stroking his cock picks up speed just as Megumi's breath stutters and you slowly, subconsciously lean in. At one last shrill cry of a name that isn’t yours, Megumi cums, a shuddering whiney and sweaty mess. The orgasm that makes its way through you almost makes you drop your phone, but you remember to keep it steady and the look on Megumi's face as he sits up in his post orgasm bliss is worth it. Tears clinging to his lashes, the sheen of saliva on his lips, and a small red spot on his cheek from resting it on the bench, all coming together to create the perfect picture for you to reach your climax as well.

A small taste of blood fills your mouth as you bite your lip to keep any noises at bay. You continue to watch him in your post orgasm haze, admiring his features as you always have. Although you still wished it had been you who Megumi cried out for, you let out a soundless laugh, shaking your head. Putting yourself back into your pants after closing the video, you take one last look at Megumi, as he also composed himself to leave. As he turns his back to the door, you silently slip out.

The walk back to your room was quiet. Images of Megumi flashing behind your eyes as you aimlessly walked the halls. You look out one of the many windows adorning the halls to see a full bright moon. Before reaching your door, you make one last stop at a vending machine for a cool drink. The drink seems to help, soothing the last dregs of nervousness and anticipation before the light padding of footsteps reaches your ears. Quickly turning to the source of the noise, you look just in time to see Megumi slip by. Your gasp is interrupted by the liquid in your mouth, and Megumi turns to your coughing form. “Are you alright?” he inquires with a raised brow, half hearted sincerity laced in his voice.

With a few quick, harsh thumps of your fist to your chest, you nod. “Yeah,” you let out with a shaky voice. “Just caught off guard is all.” you finish with an unsure smile. He hums before looking you over. You watch his eyes travel down your form and you quickly glance down to make sure nothing looks out of place before looking back up to him, his eyes boring into yours. He blinks slowly, his eyebrows furrowed.

Shaking his head, he looks at you once more before asking “What are you doing out here so late?”. Taking a slow sip of your drink before letting out a fulfilling sigh, you look at him and shrug.

“Eventful day made me a bit restless I guess.” you quip before turning to take your leave. He hums as you can feel him watching you as you walk away. You almost wish he could see the smile adorning your face, maybe then, the fake worry in his voice would finally lead to something more. Just like you’ve always wanted.

——————————————————————-———————-———

The next day during class, your mind wanders back to the night before. You attempt to keep your hands busy to keep yourself from growing hard in your slacks. And subconsciously to keep you from grinning at Megumi like a madman. You could practically feel your hands vibrate whenever you held your phone at the thought of what it stored. The smile that etched its way onto your face sadly did not go as unnoticed as you would have hoped for. Your head perks up when Gojo inquires what girl you were texting that made you so giddy before laughing.

You turn away from Gojo, shaking your head. As you make your way out of the classroom, you look at Megumi before stopping. “Hey.” You start, trying to keep your face neutral. The same thrum of adrenaline after last night coming back to you. When the boy in question looks up to the sound of your voice, you have to clench your fists to not allow any more of your emotions through. “Can I talk to you later? It’s not important, it's just…..” you let the sentence trail off, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions.

And like the good boy you know him to be, he doesn’t. The boy solemnly nods before returning back to the work on his desk. Before leaving, you tell him you’ll stop by his room after classes. After hearing the door click shut, you begin a slow, deliberate walk back to your room in anticipation. Upon sitting on your bed, you take the time to stare at your ceiling, pondering what Megumi will say. What Megumi will do. The blush is imminent , he’s such a reserved guy that being face to face with video evidence of him in such a debauched state would surely fluster him.

Would he cry? Would he get angry? Try to fight you? The mental image of Megumi crying and clinging to you, begging you to delete the video made you sigh. Imagining his lashes heavy with tears, his bottom lip trembling as he stares up at you as if you held his life in your hands which, inadvertently, you practically did. The surge of pride that coursed through you at the thought of having him wrapped around your fingers almost makes you laugh.

Before long, the sounds of laughter and footsteps of students returning to their rooms pulls you from your power induced daydream. Standing from your bed, you let out one long steadying sigh before making your way to Megumi’s room. You spot Itadori along the way, he smiles telling you Megumi is already in his room. How wonderful. How obedient.

Gently knocking on his door, you stand and wait patiently for him to reach the door and the sight of him in casual wear softens your heart. You don’t have time to wonder how he changed so fast or why, but he ushers you into his room nonetheless. He motions for you to sit on his bed as he takes his place in a nearby desk chair.

He opens his mouth to speak, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “So…. you need something?” he questions as he watches you look around his room. The silence is stifling, making Megumi shift in his seat before looking at you again. “Look man, I don’t know what you-“

“As a sorcerer, you should be more aware of your surroundings.” The interruption makes Megumi flinch, though he would deny it. Brows furrowed, Megumi goes to question exactly what you mean before you turn to him, the smirk you had been hiding all day on full display. “Don’t you think if you’re gonna finger your ass in a public place you should have the decency to at least make sure you’re alone?”

All the daydreaming in the world could not prepare you for the look of shock and hurt that adorned the young man's face. The scoff you produce makes Megumi's blood boil, rushing to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Cute. An expression of disgust takes over his features as he stands. He lets out a humorless laugh as he stands. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re a god damn pervert.” The shake in his clenched fists, the twitch of his eyebrow, you admire it all. It would almost be scary if this situation had not transpired because he quite literally got caught with his dick in his hand.

“If I’m a pervert,” you start, making your way to Megumi to stare down at him past the bridge of your nose. You swiftly grab his chin in one hand, and use the other to block the hand he tried to swipe at you with. “what would Itadori think of you?” The raw indignation from Megumi’s scowl was truly one of the better parts of this whole ordeal.

You can feel him clench his jaw under your grasp, and his attempt to pull himself free from your grasp. “And why would you tell him? You’d look just as bad as I do, recording your classmate jacking off-“ his sentence cut short by the pained sound from you squeezing his jaw. The smirk you wore before is long gone, instead replaced with a cold stare that Megumi won’t soon forget.

“You are loud. Just like you were last night. Calling out to a man who you and I both know doesn’t feel the same. Truly, Megumi. You’re better than this.” You shove him away, pushing him so that he stumbles onto his bed. He makes a move to stand again, but the steady hand on his chest and you standing between his legs stops him. “But this can be our secret. He doesn’t have to know, and you can continue crying and calling out to him all you want.” You chuckle, slowly pushing him down onto his bed and sliding your hand to his throat.

He keeps his scowl on, but his labored breathing tells you another story. “For? I doubt you came all the way here just to laugh at me.” You smile at him, not as sinister as before, and slowly slide your free hand up his side. Megumi hates that he shudders, but he hates your laugh even more. You abruptly stand, walking to his door before looking at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll keep your dirty little secret so long as you don’t mind lending me a helping hand from time to time~” Megumi sits up, confused. He opens his mouth to ask what you mean before you close the door. You pull out your phone to send the illicit video to Megumi. The small chime of his phone and the anguished groan he lets out upon seeing that you had physical proof of his lapse in judgement, made the whole thing that much sweeter. Before walking back to your room once more, you send him a text.

“So I’m free this weekend. What about you?”

#megumi x reader #i am not good at tags #aaaaaaaaa #listen im just a megumi simp with brainrot Ill add more tags later

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